


Once In A Lifetime

by liquidmeasure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, OT5, OT5 Friendship, Parallel Universes, shades of narry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidmeasure/pseuds/liquidmeasure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harry feels like he’s woken up in some terrible distorted dream version of his life.  He’d spent most of the morning convinced the lads had executed some kind of prank magnum opus, but faced with the evidence—platinum records framed on the wall of his home engraved with his name. <i>Only</i> his name. Nearly nonexistent google search results—it’s a difficult thing to argue. It would be the prank of the century, honestly. And the longer he’s here, the more awake he gets (the coffee’s helping with that), the more solid here becomes. He remembers winning the X Factor—though it seems so unlikely as to be completely bloody mental—he remembers the red carpets and the award shows. Remembers navigating them on his own. Remembers how fucking lonely it’s all been." </p><p>For the Prompt: "Harry wakes up in a world where One Direction doesn't exist."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once In A Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tardiscrashing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardiscrashing/gifts).



_"Time isn't holding us_  
 _Time isn't after us_  
 _Same as it ever was..."_

_\- Once In A Lifetime, Talking Heads_

_"Somehow, it feels like nothing has changed_  
 _Right now, my heart is beating the same_  
 _Out loud, someone's calling my name_  
 _It sounds like you..."_

_\- Once In A Lifetime, One Direction_

********

Harry wakes up with the dumbest joke on his mind. Just terrible. He wonders if it’s something he’s heard before or if it’s a thing that’s come to him in his sleep…like spontaneous passive creation. Either way, Niall is going to love it. Harry rolls over in bed and grabs his phone off the bedside table, hoping to get Niall on the phone before he forgets the joke entirely, like it was never more than just a beautiful dream.

He pulls himself halfway upright in bed. The room looks strange and unfamiliar in the dark and he feels slightly disoriented, but that’s not unusual. He feels disoriented most mornings. Forgets where he is entirely half the time. Maybe one day he’ll settle down, sleep in the same bed for more than a week straight. But that’s all a long way off now, enough to seem like a totally alien concept.

He keys Niall’s number into the phone from memory and hits send. It rings once, twice, and then connects, but it’s not Niall. The phone beeps in a jarring sort of way and informs him that the number he’s dialed isn’t in service. Harry pulls the phone away from his ear and inspects the digits. They’re correct.

“Jesus, Niall.” He must’ve given his number to someone when he was out drinking. It’s happened to the best of them, but Niall should’ve sent out a text keeping everyone abreast of his new number. He frowns and dials Liam. Liam will know. And he can tell Liam the joke. He won’t laugh quite the way Niall will, he’ll probably just be humoring Harry, but it’ll give Harry the chance to workshop his delivery, which is good. It rings three times before it connects.

“Hello?”

“Uuuuh…Hello?”

“Yes?”

“Um…I’m looking for Liam. Is he…is this Soph? You sound—”

“I’m sorry…I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“This isn’t Liam Payne’s phone?”

“Afraid not, mate. Sorry.”

“Yeah…no, uh…sorry to bother you.”

The woman hangs up. Harry double-checks the number, then clicks over to his contacts to triple check, but it seems Liam’s not in his phone at all. He scrolls. Or Niall apparently. He scrolls around a little more for good measure and within 30 seconds he is positive someone is taking the piss. Taking the piss in a very involved and very disturbing sort of way. He wonders if Louis put everyone up to this. None of it is helping him feel more grounded. He can’t remember what he was doing last night or where he’s slept. It smells and feels like home, but also not like home at all. He scrolls around in his contacts a little more, then makes a little “aha” noise. Nick. Nick’s still there.

“You’re up early.”

He’s being sarcastic. Harry’s checked the time and it’s nearly 2 in the afternoon.

“Are you in on this, then?”

“Excuse me?”

“This prank thing. It’s very funny, in a very not funny totally creepy twilight zone sort of way. Did Louis put everyone up to it?”

“Harry I’m sorry but what the fuck are you on about? Are you still drunk? Who’s Louis?”

Harry feels unbalanced suddenly. A little angry. A lot confused. He hears panic creeping into his voice when he speaks again and tries to quash it. He can’t let the terrorists win.

“Very funny, Nick.”

“I wasn’t making a joke?”

“Look, I’ve just woken up and things feel like…off. And the lads have somehow changed their numbers and deleted themselves out of my phone, which is…yeah, I’m used to being the butt of the joke or whatever but this seems sort of cruel and unusual. I’m just not in the mood, ok?”

“Harold. Harry. Half the words you are saying to me right now make no sense can you just…just come over, ok? We’ll sort it.”

“It’s not funny, Grimmy.”

“Ok, yeah. It’s not funny, whatever it is. Agreed. Just come here. I’ve got coffee on.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m trying to wrap my head around this, Harry.” Nick is standing in his kitchen, fussing with the kettle. Harry’s perched on the stool across the counter from him, biting the side of his nail nervously.

“You’re telling _me,_ mate. You’re saying I’m some kind of rock and roll solo artist. That I did it all alone? Just me? That’s not even—”

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s not possible. It’s not real life. Harry feels like he’s woken up in some terrible distorted dream version of his life. He’d spent most of the morning convinced the lads had executed some kind of prank magnum opus, but faced with the evidence—platinum records framed on the wall of his home engraved with his name. _Only_ his name. Nearly nonexistent Google search results—it’s a difficult thing to argue. It would be the prank of the century, honestly. And the longer he’s here, the more awake he gets (the coffee’s helping with that), the more solid _here_ becomes. He remembers winning the X Factor—though it seems so unlikely as to be completely bloody mental—he remembers the red carpets and the award shows. Remembers navigating them on his own. Remembers how fucking lonely it’s all been.

“I’m just having trouble grasping this, Haz. You dreamed you were in a… _boyband_ and now you’ve woken up and—”

“It wasn’t a _dream_ Nick, that’s the thing. It was right! It was real life! This…whatever all this is,” he waves his hand around wildly, “it’s all wrong.”

Pig must be picking up on his energy, because she’s pawing gently at his pant leg and gazing up into his eyes with concern. It’s also possible she’s begging for the muffin on the counter in front of Harry, but it _feels_ sympathetic at least. He reaches down and presses a hand to her head, between her ears.

“This is all…” His voice is quiet when he speaks. He feels lost. “This is all the same though. You’ve not gone.”

When Harry looks up again, Nick’s face is a mask of confusion, tempered by guarded skepticism. Like he’s holding something back, expecting Harry to laugh and admit he’s taking the piss at any moment.

“Well, I don’t know what sorts of things other me gets up to, but I know I wouldn’t leave. So yeah…I’ve not gone. But listen Harry—this doesn’t make any _sense_. You can’t stand that whole world. The choreographed dances and jazz hands and the like. You’d go mad.”

“It’s not…we aren’t _like_ that though. We’re like…a cool boy band. Like just lads, you know?”

Nick is just staring at him like he’s got an arm growing out of his head.

“What like the Wanted?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Harry buries his face in his hands. “No.”

“I’m sorry, I just…it sounds a little unbelievable, Harry.”

“What’s unbelievable is all this! Me! You’re telling me that I did it on my own. Just me and a studio band. That’s…” He shakes his head, adamant. “That wouldn’t even work. I’m a right proper twat without them, honestly. Without all four of them. I’m like…boring and insufferable. Terrible in interviews…”

“Well, you’re a right proper twat, certainly, but it sells records, and they made a whole movie about you being a right proper twat, so…everyone wants someone, I suppose.”

He picks a tea towel up off the counter, looks at it like he’s not certain where it came from and then drops it. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t mean that. I just…I love you Harry, but this is a tough pill to swallow, ok? Like no offense but worst case you’re having one of them mental breaks, which is just…so appropriate, right? Management will love it for your bad boy image.” He bends down and lights the burner under the kettle, then stands upright again, his face tight. “Sorry though, that’s a terrible thing to joke about. If you are having a mental break thingy I’m…we’ll get you help, ok?”

“I’m not crazy, Nick.”

“No…no of course not. It’s just the best-case scenario then, which is that you’ve what? Flown in from another dimension? Woken up in a strange new reality? God, maybe the mental break thing _is_ the best-case scenario. Actually, I’ve no idea. You’ve stumped me.”

“Yeah.” Harry buries his face in his hands, because god, it does sound absurd. It sounds crazy. “I know it sounds mental. I know. But I also know I’m right. And I…I need your help, Nick.” He feels on the verge of tears. Because it’s all so fucking overwhelming and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to cope. The longer he spends in this place, in this fucking strange altered reality, the more it—all of the old stuff, the five of them together—feels like a dream. Something that will slip away from him entirely with time. And that’s…terrifying, honestly. He can’t abide it.

“Fuck…I don’t expect you to believe me. This is all…”

He hears Nick moving around the kitchen island, feels him approach, and then his arms are around Harry, holding him tight.

“Alright, Haz. We’ll just…we’ll fix it, ok? What do you need me to do?”

Harry nods into Nick’s shoulder. He probably doesn’t deserve Nick. He’s never deserved Nick.

“I need you to help me find them.”

 

* * *

 

Louis is the easiest to find. Pinning him down will apparently be another thing entirely.

When Harry says his name, Nick’s face goes all funny again, like he’s about to throw up his hands and cry uncle, tell Harry there’s only so much he can believe. But he just shakes his head in bewilderment and says

“Tomlinson? You’re certain?”

Harry nods.

“Yeah. Louis Tomlinson. Why? Wait, do you know that name?”

Nick stands up and walks to the living room. He retrieves some glossy magazine from a side-table, one of those entertainment rags, and brings it back to the kitchen with him. He drops it on the counter in front of Harry.

“Masterpiece Theatre presents…”

Harry leans forward and peers at the page in front of him and yeah, there’s Louis fucking Tomlinson. His hair is shorter and quite quiffy, which goes very nicely with the ridiculous period clothing someone’s put him in. It’s an ad for a BBC miniseries. Something Charles Dickens or maybe one of the Brontes. Harry’s terrible at books. Zayn would know. Anyway, he looks like a twat, which makes Harry smile.

“He’s an actor?”

“Yes. He’s an actor. Not like A-list or anything, not with that ratty little face—“

“Heeeey…”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting these are your mates. You know what I mean. He’s handsome, right? But in a villainous sort of way.”

“Fair enough. He’s always cast himself as a bit of a villain.”

Harry smiles down at the magazine and taps Louis’s face with the tip of his finger.

“He’s a really good guy though. Like…one of the best, you know?”

He looks up and catches Nick watching him, his face soft with concern and something like dawning acceptance.

“You’re actually…this is all…really real then?”

Harry just nods. He gives the magazine another look before Nick snatches it away and stands, all business.

“We’ll start with Tomlinson then. Shouldn’t be too difficult, what with my tremendous clout and all.”

“Oh! Are you like super famous in this universe? That’s amazing.”

Nick rolls his eyes and shoves the magazine in a drawer.

“I was joking. You’ll be the one making the call, rock star. Management should be able to get you in touch with his agent. Then we’ve got to walk Pig.”

 

* * *

 

Pig is scratching at a mound of mulch piled around the base of a tree, nosing at the ground and trying to catch the scent of a squirrel that must’ve scaled the trunk in front of her at some point in the recent past.

“Look at her…she knows the squirrel was there. She’s just got to like…follow the trail, you know?”

Nick pulls his collar up and adjusts his scarf, hopping from foot to foot.

“She’s rubbish at tracking, really. But more power to her, I suppose. Never hurts to follow your dreams.”

Harry nods. He leans down and scratches Pig behind an ear and she resolutely ignores him, absorbed in the task at hand.

“Do you think I could’ve communicated more…urgency? Or something?”

He stands and watches Nick purse his lips, then pull at Pig’s leash.

“C’mon girl, plenty more trees to smell. We haven’t got all day.”

They continue along the path slowly, indulging Pig’s nose.

“I think you did what you could. I mean, you can’t very well leave a message about boyband soul mates and expect any kind of call back. Though…that’s not entirely true, I suppose. I reckon you’d be getting calls from tabloids within the week. Harry Styles, off the deep end!”

“Yeah. I guess I just wanted it to be kind of immediate? Like I’d call Louis and it would be _Louis_ and the minute he heard my voice it would all click. Everything would fall into place.”

“Well…that would be nice, wouldn’t it? Anyway, you’ve got a lunch date on Monday to look forward to, which leaves us approximately 4 days to put in work on the other three boys. So, we’ll finish with Pig’s morning constitutional, head back to mine and start googling. Okay?”

“Yeah. Alright.”

Harry slows to a stop, looking down at the ground, then up at Nick’s face. Nick has stopped walking too, and that makes Harry feel a thing. Nick is a good friend. He’s always been a good friend. There to counsel Harry when he’s being a right mess, opening the door and smiling with infinite patience when Harry shows up pissed at 3am, too out of sorts to face the thought of a dark and empty house. But that’s the other Nick. The Nick back home. Christ. And this Nick, in a world where Harry hasn’t got 4 idiots keeping him sane, helping him feel less alone…being Nick to Harry’s Harold here in this place must be a full time job, because Harry thinks he must be so lonely here. To think of himself as singular—as just Harry—it’s nearly too much to consider.

“Thank you.”

Nick smiles.

“No problem, mate. It’s the least I can do, you know?”

“I just…you’ve always been there. Always. It means so much.”

Nick reaches up and tugs at a curl that’s escaped from Harry’s cap. He wrinkles his brow.

“Have I?”

“What?”

“Have I always been there? I just figured…you’ve got 4 other lads your age to lean on, right?”

Harry laughs.

“Yeah. Yeah I’ve got them. But I still need you.”

He throws an arm around Nick’s shoulder and squeezes. They start walking again.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t really know what I’d _do_ without you to mind. I’d have to make a baby or something. Or get like 20 more dogs.” He puts one hand on the side of Harry’s face and pulls him close, pressing their heads together. “Alright then, who’s next?”

“Niall’s next.” Harry realizes as he says it that it was never a question, really. “It’s got to be Niall.”

 

* * *

 

“Wasn’t there a Niall at boot camp? Irish kid? Cute little blond lad?”

They’re sitting on Nick’s couch, huddled around his laptop. Pig is squeezed between them with her chin propped on Harry’s thigh. She sighs and Nick pats her head absently.

“Wish you would sleep like this when it’s time for bed, you little shit.” He types Niall’s name into Google and scans the results. “There was, right? Yeah. Niall Horan. Dublin auditions, little Irish guitar lad. Kicked off after boot camp.”

“He wasn’t…I mean, we were all kicked off, right? Then when we were all crying and getting ready to leave they dragged us back out and stuck us in a group.”

“Emotional manipulation. Sounds like great TV.”

“Yeah, but…it just _worked_. I don’t think they could’ve imagined, really. But I don’t understand what’s different. What’s changed? Are you finding anything? Is he still in Mullingar?”

Nick clicks around for a bit, following leads, until he finds a Facebook profile.

“Here we go. This looks promising. Niall Horan, 21, London. London! Well. That’s a windfall for us then.”

Harry just sits there, speechless. He stares down at the screen.

“Weird.” His voice is quiet. “But I mean…not weird. He always said he would’ve changed it back.”

“What are you on about now?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Nothing, just…his hair is like…brunette. It’s…I guess it just didn’t feel real? Until right now. Like it’s all really properly off kilter. Just very fucked.”

“Because a lad’s got brown hair?”

Harry sits back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling. Pig is awake and pawing at him again.

“Yeah. He was…he IS the blond one, you know? The cute one. The Irish one. It’s just…without the rest of us, the five of us together, I’m not certain I know who he is? Or who I am maybe…”

“He’s Niall Horan, 21, London, and…” Nick leans forward again, clicking around a bit. “Says here he works at a pub in Battersea. And does a bit of studio stuff, strumming the guitar or what have you. So.”

Harry laughs, because it’s perfect, isn’t it? Niall works in a pub. Niall pulls pints and talks to people and cracks stupid jokes and does impressions and he probably makes great tips and then he goes and messes around on guitar to make ends meet. He’s Niall.

“So…he’s Niall.”

“And you’re Harry Styles, moony off-brand Mick Jagger.”

“Heeeeey…”

Nick is already up and grabbing his coat off the chair where he’d tossed it when they arrived home.

“Why are you still sitting there looking all sad and lumpy? Let’s grab a pint, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

They call a car to take them to Battersea. Harry would almost like to take the train, or even to hoof it all the way, just to see what’s different here, what’s the same. Nick looks at him like he’s crazy when he mentions it, of course, and Harry knocks himself with the flat of his hand, laughing.

“It’s so weird, right? Like I keep forgetting that I’m still famous here. That’s not changed. It just…doesn’t seem possible if it’s just me. I should still be baking tarts in Holmes Chapel.”

Nick sends a few texts then shoves his phone in his pocket and holds the door open.

“Harry, I don’t think there’s a universe out there where you’re still baking tarts in Holmes Chapel.”

“I mean technically, if we’re talking multiverse theory—”

“Excuse me? The who what now? When did you become Carl bloody Sagan?”

Harry pulls his gloves on and shakes his head.

“See, that’s Niall. That’s all Niall. You just…you’ll see. He’s the numbers guy. He just…retains info. He’s into space and stuff. It’s…cute. It’s _Niall_.”

Nick just stares at him.

“We’re gonna fix this. You’ll see when you meet him, he’s brill.”

Nick is still muttering to himself about “multi what-now” as he locks the door and Harry thinks he’s stopped listening. He turns to walk to the car, but Nick stops him short.

“Wait, Harry.” His face is somber. “Look. I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest.”

“Yeah. Anything.”

“Are these alternate universe friends of yours a bunch of nerds?”

Harry can’t tell if he’s taking the piss, so he just says “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Nick nods and moves toward the car.

“Right. Ok. You owe me one, Styles.”

 

* * *

 

They get to the pub a little after 5 and have the car drop them up the block. They’d like to make their entrance as casual and unobtrusive as possible. Just a couple lads stopping in for a pint. The front of the pub is all decked out with colored lights and evergreen boughs, and Harry remembers that Christmas is just a week away.

“It’s Louis’s birthday soon,” he says, “I hope we can pin him down before…I’d like to…”

Nick leans over as they walk and bumps Harry’s shoulder with his own.

“We’ll get him, Harry.”

There’s a man standing outside the door to the bar, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing a cheap looking Santa’s hat and humming a Christmas carol. He’s tall and broad and friendly looking, and Harry thinks he’s quite familiar in a way. Someone from back in Mullingar maybe. The man looks up and smiles in greeting, and Harry smiles back, then watches as recognition creeps over the man’s face. It’s no real surprise. Incognito isn’t really an option these days. Harry finds himself shrugging apologetically, but the man doesn’t stop staring. His mouth drops open and the cigarette dangling there falls to the ground. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Harry feels terrible. It’s like this sometimes, when he goes out. People react to his presence in…strange ways.

“You alright?” He moves forward, intending to put the man at ease ( _Waj? Was that his name? Something like that)_ but the guy is already spinning around, heading for the door. Like Harry’s some sort of notorious axe murderer rather than a perfectly amiable public figure. As he disappears into the doorway, they hear the man yelling. He sounds frantic. Disbelieving.

“Ni! Niall! Fuck, mate! You gotta come out here! It’s him!”

Harry stops dead in his tracks and looks over at Nick, confused. Nick just shakes his head, and they hear the door swing open again. The sound of a crowded pub, Christmas music. Then a voice.

“Jesus CHRIST! _That_ took you long enough!”

Harry looks back at the door in time to see Niall rushing along the pavement toward him, and then he’s being attack-hugged. Niall squeezes him so hard he thinks it might knock the wind out of him, but it’s ok. He doesn’t want Niall to let him go. Niall is laughing hysterically and he smells like cotton and beer and wood smoke and _Niall_. When he finally lets go, he holds Harry at arm’s length and looks him over.

“I was starting to think you might _never_ come, honestly. Oh god. Don’t cry! Don’t cry it’s ok.” He’s laughing and pawing awkwardly at Harry’s face, wiping tears away as they roll down his cheeks. Harry feels floored. He feels bowled over by relief. He’s not crazy. Niall understands.

“But how do you…how are you…” He can’t get the words out. Niall is pulling him by the arm toward the door of the pub.

“I just like… _know_ , you know? I’ve known for a long time.” He taps his temple with a finger. “It’s all in here.”

Nick tags along behind them, then moves forward and opens the door for the two of them.

“In here? What do you mean ‘in here’ like in your head?”

Niall nods and Harry laughs. It sounds like a sob.

“Yeah…” he smiles over at Nick. “See? He’s the stats guy.”

 

* * *

 

Niall sits them at the bar when they get inside and pours them each a pint. He’s buzzing with energy, beaming and talking a mile a minute. Harry wants to run behind the bar and hold him until he calms down. Make him sit quietly for a moment, but he doesn’t know this Niall that way. Not really. His hair is dark and unkempt and he’s just…different. He’s got this scar on his forehead, above his left eyebrow, the one that sits higher, and Harry is dying to ask him about it. He needs to know everything. It’s the strangest feeling, being so close to someone, understanding them so completely, but not really knowing them at all. Back home, in the real world (or whatever, he can’t even think of what to call it) it’s just a given that he knows the ins and outs of the boys’ days and nights. Their histories. The little things that have happened and the big things. He knows because he’s just always been there, sharing it. Experiencing it _with_ them.

Now there’s this Niall standing in front of him, pulling pints, talking his ear off and laughing, and Harry feels so close to him, like they’re two parts of the same person, but he knows nothing about him at all. He’s got no clue what’s led him to this place. It’s enough to give Harry a feeling of vertigo and he reminds himself to go easy on the pint.

“So I thought what the hell, you know? London’s where I should be if I want to get any gigs. If I want to do studio stuff, and anyway you’re here, so…Waj just kind of tagged along I guess.”

“I take offense at that! For the record. I’ve got plenty of my own business here.”

“Of course you do.”

Waj turns to Harry, rolling his eyes. “I tagged along because I was worried about him, right? Like…he’s not mental or anything…”

“Thanks, bro.”

“But some of the stuff he was on about was…” He sips at his pint and laughs a little. “… _mental_ , you know?”

Nick shakes his head, disbelieving. “So you _knew_ about this? What did you think about it all? I mean…Harry only just told me this morning and until this lad railroaded him outside I still had half a mind to walk him straight to the psych ward come morning.”

Harry frowns over at him, offended.

“ _Excuse_ me, Grimmy.”

Nick just shrugs and takes a drink. “Sorry, but really.”

“Nah, it’s fine Harry, it’s crazy.” Niall smiles in a resigned sort of way. “It’s unbelievable nonsense. But we’re here now. Together. It’s _our_ nonsense now. We’ll sort it, ok?”

“But you didn’t…I mean, you’ve not just woken up and had some epiphany, right? You’ve been convinced for years? That sounds…lonely.”

Niall shrugs. It’s twitchy and quick, the way he moves when he’s uncomfortable. Harry reaches out reflexively and squeezes his arm where it’s sitting on the bar and is rewarded with a quick smile.

“Yeah. It’s weird, you know? It was like…I came home from boot camp and I was absolutely gutted. And I _knew_ that it wasn’t right. Like I knew it. And I started racking my brain like trying to figure out what went wrong. I wrote everything down, like how it played out and where it was supposed to be…just… _different_. I put everything down, up to the moment I was cut, and then I just like…” he glances over at Waj, like he’s uncomfortable talking about this. Like he’s accustomed to sparing his loved ones this sort of conversation. “I just…kept writing. It was…weird. But it was real. We were cut, right? But they held us back…me and you, and three others. That Louis kid, with the attitude. Liam, the lad I was rooming with and…another one. Someone else. But he wasn’t there. I don’t understand that part.”

Harry sits up. “Zayn. It was Zayn.”

“Zayn?”

“Yeah. The shy one. Dark hair. He had trouble with the dancing? But he had a _killer_ voice. Like Usher or something.”

Niall is shaking his head, confused.

“Nah…I don’t remember him at all.”

 

* * *

 

They stay at the pub for what feels like an eternity just talking, drinking through pint after pint. Nick paces himself like the adult he is. Harry drinks more than he should, but the circumstances are extenuating to say the least. Niall talks his ear off between customers and manages to keep the gawkers at bay, warding any would-be shoulder-tappers off with a stern glance and a nearly imperceptible headshake. Harry watches him with great interest through a three-beer buzz. There’s so much that’s the same in him. The twitchy shrugs and the loud sharp laugh and the accent, but he’s not the same. He’s a thoroughly different Niall.

“I remember when we first met, at boot camp. That’s the same at least. Like…we’ve got the same memory.”

Niall is loading a rack of pint glasses onto a shelf under the bar. He stands up and nods, remembering.

“You kept telling everyone about the bakery. ‘I’m Harry, I work at a bakery’.”

Harry laughs and leans his head on one hand. “I still…that’s still the thing. Like…it’s so funny, right? I’ve lived this whole life and been all these places and I have this ridiculous job. But I get in these situations where I have to like…summarize myself. Like represent myself in a succinct little package.”

“The elevator speech Harry Styles,” Nick murmurs, tilting his glass.

“Yeah. But…put me on the spot, every time…it’s the bakery thing. ‘I used to be a baker’.”

Niall laughs. “I think I’ve seen that. Like in an interview. They offered you a cake or something. ‘Oh I used to make these’.”

“God. I’m totally unbearable.” He drops his head into his hands, then looks over at Nick. “I don’t…I don’t understand how I’ve made it this far on my own.”

Nick tips his glass.

“Charisma, mate.” 

“I’ve not _got_ any of that though. Not really. I remember Niall at boot camp…wherever Niall went he had this like…entourage. Just people who wanted to be _near_ him.”

Niall shrugs. “It’s cause I’m Irish. I’m a novelty.”

Harry stares down at the bar and trails a finger through a ring of condensation.

“Little Irish chap with dyed hair. Dancin’.”

“Huh?”

Harry shakes his head. “You just…it’s something you said. In an interview. We were taking the piss, talking about who gets it in. About how they love you in Japan.”

When he looks up, Niall is staring at him, his mouth tight.

“Sorry. Not you. I mean the other you said that.”

“It’s cool I just…it’s weird, you know? I’ve never been further than France for a holiday. The idea that there’s a universe where I’ve been all over the world. It’s like…I _know_ , because it’s in here,” he taps his head, frowning. “But how can you really…it’s just all so far-fetched. It’s impossible to really _know_ what that’s like. Without experiencing it.”

Harry feels the beer swimming in his head. The bar is warm and it’s all very disorienting. The Christmas lights and Niall’s dark hair and the grim set of his jaw…like he’s grown up. Like he’s just a person living a life. Harry reaches over the bar and squeezes Niall’s hand. He feels tense, but he doesn’t shy away.

“We can go some places together. Like…I’d like to take you.”

Niall just stares down at their hands and shakes his head. “Fucking mental.”

“Bloody right, mate.” Nick downs the rest of his pint. “We should get you off to bed, Haz. Plenty of work to be done come morning.” He mimes typing away at an invisible keyboard. “Lots of Googles to execute.”

Harry stands and wrestles clumsily with his coat. Niall is just stood there, clutching a tea towel.

“So is this like…is that it then? You’ll be in touch or something?” Niall glances over at the taps nervously and touches his hair, the way he does when he’s self-conscious. Harry wants to reach out and pull his hand away.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’re screwed now, because you’ve just been drafted for Google duty.” He tugs his arm through a sleeve and holds his hand out expectantly. “Your phone please.”

Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. Harry keys in his number and hands it back.

“We’re staying at Nick’s now.”

“Apparently we’re staying at Nick’s now,” Nick parrots, rolling his eyes and threading an arm through Harry’s to steady him.

“He’s in Primrose Hill so just text me when you get up and we’ll send a car round.”

Niall’s eyes go wide.

“Jesus. Uh…I’ve got me own car. I’ll just let you know when I’m up and you tell me where to go.” He shakes his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket, and moves around the end of the bar. “Sending cars round. Bloody mental.”

Niall approaches and folds Harry into another hug. Harry feels something surge inside of him. A great and terrible warmth. Like he’s a child again and he’s lost him mum in Tesco’s. Like he’s safe at home in bed.

“That’s…that’s so Niall. You’re so him.”

“Having a car? Yeah I guess.” He pulls away and holds Harry at arm’s length, peering into his face. He looks like Harry feels. Lost and found all at once. “I guess I’m me.”

His collar is a little askew and Harry would like to straighten it. He’d like to smooth Niall’s hair where it’s sort of sticking up at a funny angle. He’d like to worry at him. That’s what Niall always calls it. _Harry, quit worryin at me, you’re makin me nervous_. He reaches out and pats Niall awkwardly on the chest, over his heart, and Niall rewards him with a smile, and then Nick is saying something about the car and shaking Niall’s hand and shuttling Harry back out into the night.

 

* * *

 

Nick sets him up in the guest room when they arrive back, which might as well have a sign on the door that says “Harry’s Room”. That much hasn’t changed at least. He gets undressed and brushes his teeth and stretches out facedown on the mattress, his head a little sore. He should drink water but water is so involved and so far away and he’s so tired. He’s just falling asleep when the door opens and he hears Nick setting a glass down on the side table, the tiny clack-clack of paracetamol tablets. He says thank you into the pillow, his voice muffled, and hears Nick laughing softly as he shuts the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

He feels a little terrible for being such a mess, and such a burden, so he forces himself out of bed the minute he opens his eyes. He downs another glass of water and pulls his jeans on and heads to the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee. His guilt transforms coffee into coffee and scones and jam, and he used to be a baker so of course he’ll want to make the scones from scratch. When he’s halfway finished and up to his elbows in flour, his phone buzzes and he sees a text from Niall. He wipes his hands on a towel but still manages to get his screen all floury as he types out Nick’s address.

He’s just sliding the tray of scones into the oven when Nick rounds the corner, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He takes stock of the mess Harry’s made and his face is impressively blank. Like he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Harry than a kitchen disaster. He pulls a mug down off the shelf and pours himself a coffee as Harry shuts the oven and fiddles with the settings. He stops to give Nick a quick kiss on the temple and a good morning, then sets about cleaning up. Nick leans against the sink in his robe, watching him.

“Shirtless baking? Is this my payment for putting you up?”

Harry shrugs.

“Maybe? Yeah. I just…I don’t want to feel like a burden.”

Nick laughs.

“You’re not a burden, Harry. You’ve never been a burden.”

Pig pads into the kitchen then, stretching her body long and yawning. Nick wrinkles his nose at her and sighs.

“This one, on the other hand…At least you’re not keeping me up all hours and being sick on my duvet.”

“Ugh.” Harry crouches down next to Pig and frowns. “Did you really? You poor thing.” He slips Pig a stray piece of cheese and strokes her head. He ignores Nick’s protests from above, something about her delicate constitution.

 

* * *

 

 

Niall arrives just as the scones are coming out of the oven, which seems about right. Niall’s always had a sort of sixth sense for food, so that much is the same. He’s got a guitar case strapped to his back and sets it aside apologetically, saying something about studio time in the evening.

Nick leaves them alone, pleading work commitments and makes them promise to walk Pig and to _not_ burn the place down. They each flash him a jokey salute and he makes such a horrified face at their weird synchronized movements that they both start cracking up. It’s eerie. Harry’s got to admit that much. Like uncanny valley weird, but also very natural because isn’t this just how they are? Isn’t this the Niall and Harry that he knows to be true? They’ve always been this way, tuned into each other’s energy. On the back of each other’s minds. Connected, like.

They set themselves up on the couch with a plate of scones and the pot of coffee and Harry’s laptop. Harry can’t help googling One Direction first, but all he comes up with is that terrible band from the states. The one that tried to sue them. Harry tells Niall the story and he laughs, then he wants to know why “One Direction” and Harry explains that too.

“Because you thought it would sound cool?”

“I was such a twat. But you all loved it.”

Niall shrugs and takes a bite of his scone.

“Eh…whatevs, right? One Direction it is.”

Harry clicks around a bit. “Or isn’t, as it were. It’s still so weird…just… _not_ seeing us everywhere. Not seeing all your faces plastered all over billboards and bus stops.”

“Just your mug all over.”

“Yeah. Just me.”

“S’fine. No one wants to look at this face anyway. I’m much too ruggedly handsome to appeal to the masses.”

Harry laughs.

“That’s funny because lately I think you’ve become like _IT_. The most popular. Everyone’s fave.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah. You were always the cute one…now you’re like…NIALL. All grown up. Like a force of nature or something. Look out, world…”

Niall giggles and takes Pig’s face in his hands.

“Look out, world. I’m comin.”

He leans forward and turns the laptop. He clicks around for a bit, then sits up.

“Aha! Look. Here we are. West Midlands Local News. New Jaguar factory to open 2015. Liam Payne, floor lead quoted as saying ‘it’s a boon for Wolverhampton. We’re ready to step up and give it our all.’”

Harry peers down at the screen.

“Christ.”

“What?” Niall looks from Harry’s face to the screen. “Is it not him?”

“No…no it’s him. It’s just. I should have guessed it right away. He always said like…if it weren’t for us, if it weren’t for the band, he would never’ve left Wolverhampton. Would’ve got a job in a factory—”

“It’s him then, yeah? Just where he’s meant to be.”

“Yeah…” Harry turns that idea over in his mind. _Where he’s meant to be_. “It was just always so bleak, you know. Like a sob story. ‘There but for the grace of Simon’ or whatever.” He sits back on the couch. “It’s just all very…”

“Real?”

He turns his head to look at Niall. His face is serious, concerned. Warm. Harry reaches out without really thinking and Niall doesn’t flinch away or anything, just lets Harry tap his brow lightly.

“How did you get that?”

Niall reaches up and touches the scar above his eye. He looks away, down at Pig.

“This thing? Just lad stuff. You know, running my mouth down the pub.”

Harry shakes his head.

“We should’ve been there. Like…Zayn would never’ve let that—”

Niall just shrugs and turns back to the laptop.

“You’re here now, mate. Liam’s just a train ride away…Louis is…Louis Tomlinson. So…we’re fixing it, right?”

“As usual Zayn is unreachable…”

“Huh?”

Harry is already typing into his phone.

“Nothing…just…classic Zayn. Can you push that studio time back?”

Niall sighs. He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket.

“This is going to change like…everything, isn’t it?”

Harry puts his own phone away and shrugs.

“Yeah. I guess it kind of is.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment, then Niall nods.

“That’s fine. I’m ready for whatever.”

Harry feels a great sense of relief. He needs to know that Niall is on board. Maybe more than anyone else. That’s why Niall came first; because deep down Harry understands that none of this would work without him.

“Great. Awesome. Ok. Let’s get Pig tuckered out and then we’ve got to get to the airport. I’ve scheduled us a flight.”

Niall just frowns like he’s still trying to wrap his head around it all. Harry can’t really blame him. It must be so strange, being thrust into this world overnight. No slow build, no gentle grade or adjustment period.

“Jesus…this is like…Harry Potter level shit, you know?”

Harry laughs, then stands up and looks down at Niall solemnly.

“You’re a wizard, Niall. Now get your coat on, we’ve got a dog to walk.”

 

* * *

 

Wolverhampton is soggy and cold and a bit bleak when they land. Niall can’t wait to get off the plane. He’d been disturbed by the size, muttering about tin cans as they boarded. The entire airport experience seemed to bewilder him, really. He’d crouched down when they got to the private terminal office and started unlacing his shoes, and Harry’d had to tug him up and explain that no, they wouldn’t be searched or prodded or metal-detected. That the worst they might be subjected to was unsolicited offers of food and beverages or lavender scented neck pillows while they waited to board. Niall seemed a little dumbfounded, like he was having trouble processing the idea that a person could own an entire plane outright.

“Like…I know it’s a thing. Objectively I know. But it’s just…”

“Weird.” Harry shrugs. “Yeah. It’s weird, but his is all stuff that we do together. And maybe when you’ve got four other lads right there with you it’s easy to forget that this isn’t normal. It’s just…it seems a lot more lonely like this, when it’s just me. A lot more singular.”

When they land, Niall practically runs off the plane and Harry’s reminded that he’s not used to any of it. That maybe the plane was messing with his claustrophobia. He tries to stick close to Niall as they navigate through the terminal. Keeps one hand at his shoulder or the small of his back. He wonders if anyone’s been tipped off to his arrival here in Wolverhampton, if there will be photos in the paper tomorrow of him moving through the West Midlands airport with a mysterious brunette. It’s a trip to think of it. The idea that the media would look at Niall and see…what? Just some guy. Harry Styles and some guy. It’s all so wrong. It was never about Harry. Nothing ever hinged on him at all. It was always Niall. Niall and four other lads.

While they’re waiting on a car in the terminal, Harry makes some calls. He assumes the position, hunching over into himself as he presses the phone to his ear. Tugging his beanie down over his brow. It never works. Someone always spots him, but he’s got to try. It’s not so bad here in the private terminal. They’ve been trained to turn a blind eye maybe, but still, it’s unusual for someone like him to fly into Wolverhampton unannounced and he can feel wide eyes tracking his movement as he paces back and forth from the vending machine to the hospitality counter.

The woman on the other end of the line puts him on hold to make a call and Harry leans against the wall and watches Niall. He’s sitting down, texting furiously and frowning down at his phone. His tongue is protruding from the side of his mouth a little and Harry wants to walk over and poke it with a finger but he doesn’t think that’s the sort of thing he can do to this Niall without freaking him out a little. Niall’s phone buzzes in his hand and he wrinkles his nose.

“Oy, I may need you to vouch for me here, bro.” He holds up his phone. “Turns out the truth is stranger than the worst possible excuse.”

Harry nods and flashes a thumbs-up as the woman comes back on the line and confirms their appointment at the plant. He thanks her and then puts Niall on the phone and has him explain the situation with the studio time. He does, looking thoroughly bewildered, then says thank you and hangs up. He hands the phone back to Harry, his face a little troubled.

“Do you just get used that, then…like having people do stuff for you? Just fixing everything up with a phone call?”

Harry shrugs self-consciously and turns his phone around in his hands.

“I don’t think you really can…get used to it. But…I think you particularly have always had trouble with it. Like more than the rest of us. With how you grew up and all.”

When he looks up from his hands, Niall is staring at him, silent.

“I’m sorry I…I should stop doing that.”

“No it’s fine. It’s just surreal I guess? You know everything about me, to a certain point, before things like…diverge. And I _feel_ like I know you. But it’s all muddled and I have to question it, you know? Because on the one hand you’re _Harry Styles_. You’re this concept and this brand and in a way I guess a lot of people think they know you. And sometimes I feel like one of them. I used to second guess myself, try to like…stifle that feeling. The feeling that it was something else, you know? Something more.”

For a moment Harry can see half a decade of uncertainty reflected in Niall’s face. Five years of doubt and confusion juxtaposed with stubborn certainty. Maybe that’s what seems the most alien about this Niall. The way those feelings have settled into him…informed who he is. But he’s carrying something new now. A new layer of complexity that shows on his face and looks something like relief. Like vindication. Harry reaches over and pulls Niall close, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“It is something more. It’s something a lot more.”

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket then, and sees the car pull up outside.

“Let’s go get Liam.”

 

* * *

 

“We’ve installed 500 completely autonomous units on the main floor, which require minimum human interface.”

“Robots that make cars. Sick.”

“Yes, quite, Mr…errrm…”

“Niall. I mean Horan. Niall Horan.”

“Horan. But make no mistake, the plant is a boon to the region in terms of job opportunities. We’re trying our best to hire locally and responsibly.”

Niall is pressing his forehead to the plate glass window that overlooks the factory floor, trying to get a good view of the operation. It’s impeccable. Spotless. All shining yellow paint and polished concrete and gleaming metal limbs. Like exactly the opposite of what Harry would’ve expected to see on a factory floor. He wonders if that’s a function of the newness. If it’ll become soiled over time. If 10 years down the road it’ll bear all the scars that come with a decade of hard use. He thinks of Liam and Zayn. Wonders what sort of marks they’ll carry here, like the scar on Niall’s brow or the way his face goes hard and closed off sometimes, when he thinks Harry’s not looking.

“You’ve recruited from other factories around the Midlands, yeah?”

“Yes, the majority of our floor leads and management level employees were pulled from neighboring operations. We cooperated fully with the management at our sister factories of course. Most of the jobs amounted to promotions for our new hires, into positions that would not have opened up any time soon in their previous situations.”

As they stand there, looking down at the factory floor, a man moves down the assembly line, appearing from somewhere out of sight and headed toward a far door, into the bowels of the warehouse. Niall taps at the glass.

“Lookit Harry, maybe it’s him.”

Harry shrugs. It could be anyone really. It could be Liam. It could be a woman. It could be a kangaroo. The person is wearing some sort of tyvek suit and a hardhat, completely obscuring any recognizable features.

“It’s like that movie, though. Ha!” Niall mimes banging frantically on the glass. “Leeeeeeyyyuuuuummm!!!!”

Harry grabs at him, trying not to laugh. The man who’s been graciously leading them around the factory—a man who seems a bit in over his head on this week before Christmas, who’s convinced Harry’s here scoping out some sort of sponsorship deal or custom ride or whatever else celebrities want when they barge in a take up a person’s time—just smiles tightly, uncertain. A little ill at ease. Harry tugs Niall away and pins his arms to his sides.

“Sorry. He’s got Tourette’s.”

“No I don’t!”

“No, he really doesn’t.” Harry lets Niall go and the man just shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “Sorry,” Harry laughs. “Sorry, we’ll behave.”

“No please, you’re honestly fine. I’ve thought of it too. The Graduate, right? Great movie.”

Niall laughs and the man seems to relax by about ten degrees.

“What was that name you were…was there someone in particular you were looking for here at the plant? It’s only…we’ve got a Liam. Recruited from the BMW plant last year. Very promising.”

Niall and Harry exchange a glance.

“Funny you mention it…”

 

* * *

 

Everything is confusion and dissonance for a bit once Liam comes upstairs. He seems to have a hard time processing the whole situation, even with them keeping mum on the whole “we’re destined to be together” thing. On the one hand, he’s polite and warm and friendly and very _very_ Liam, projecting a vibe of wanting to make them comfortable. To represent his employer well. On the other, there’s the fact that Harry is very famous and very right there in front of him in the flesh, which seems to be making him a little stuttery and nervous and talkative. Once he comes down to earth and gets a read on the whole situation, though, he does just fine. He seems genuinely happy to see them both, once the surprise wears off, and particularly happy to see Niall. Harry remembers suddenly that they roomed together during boot camp. They’re familiar with each other, like old friends from school.

Liam looks very much the same, but his hair is longer. It’s a surprise to Harry. The minute he saw that Liam was working in a factory back home, he’d imagined buzz-cut Liam. No frills Liam. Plaid shirt stubbled chin steel-toed boots Liam. But this Liam is softer. He’s let his hair grow out just enough to show its curl and his face is smooth. He’s thin, a little wiry, like he’s been keeping up with the running, which Harry realizes he should have expected. Running was always Liam’s _thing_ , before the band happened. Before everything changed.

Niall proposes lunch, and Liam glances at the plant manager, who smiles and lets him know that he’s welcome to take as much time as he needs. Catching up with old friends and all that. Liam seems confused but pleased and agrees to meet them at a pub down the road from the plant.

“It’s nothing fancy, like you’re used to I’d gather, but it’s food. God. This is crazy, you know? Just the two of you showing up out of the blue like this.”

He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand and smiles crookedly.

“Just…really cool seeing you lads again. Crazy. But cool. I’ll see you down there in about 15, alright?”

He gives Niall a hug and Harry a handshake and heads back down to finish up whatever he was doing when they arrived, and Harry and Niall leave with a folder full of brochures on luxury autos and custom upholstery. When they get to the car, Harry chucks the folder in the back seat and turns on the heat.

“Do people just like…give you stuff like that?”

“Huh? Like brochures?”

“No, stupid. Like cars. Like if you came back and you were like ‘I’ve decided I like the red one with the gold plated stereo’ would you have to pay for it? Or would they just like…”

Harry fiddles with the heater settings and purses his lips.

“Depends, I suppose.”

“On what?”

“On how desperate they are for a plug? I dunno. It’s all sort of uncomfortable, honestly. You’re the worst about it…I mean, the other you. You have a really hard time just like…taking things. More than the rest of us I suppose.”

“Fuck…I’d imagine so. Can barely take a bloody Christmas gift, you know?”

“Yeah…” Harry pulls out of the lot and turns onto the road toward town. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they get to the pub, Harry digs a beanie and a pair of glasses out of his bag. He shoves his hair up into the hat and slips the glasses on and thankfully they’re not tinted so he doesn’t look like a complete twat. Niall laughs, all the same.

“You look ridiculous.”

“I know. But it’s as low-key as I can be without feeling like a complete idiot. If you wear an _actual_ disguise Murphy’s Law says you’ll be caught at it and look like the biggest asshole in the known universe.”

Niall giggles.

“Like Bono, yeah?”

“Yeah. Like Bono.”

They lock up the car and Harry pulls his collar up high around his neck.

“Do you think you’re more famous than him?”

“Than Bono? Fuck me, I don’t think so.”

Niall holds the door to the pub open and gestures grandly, ushering Harry inside.

“I reckon you might be, though.”

“No. That’s too weird.”

“Maybe so. But too weird doesn’t equal not true. Go sit down and look uninteresting. I’ll order us a pint.”

Harry finds a corner table and settles in with his back to the door and the bar. It’s like this, going out. It’s different in London, where he knows places. He knows where things won’t get too terribly weird. But here he’s got to be more careful. The good people of Wolverhampton are not ready to deal with Harry Styles in the wild.

“Oy, Hazza!” Harry jumps a little in his seat. Niall has some adjusting to do. “What does Liam like to drink?”

He turns in his seat, trying not to show his entire face. Keeping things obscure.

“Just a coke. He’s got to go back to work and he doesn’t drink all that much anyway.”

“Got it.”

Niall turns back to the bar and orders.

Liam arrives just as Niall is setting their drinks down on the table. He’s effortless about it, which Harry would say is a product of his barkeep’s training, but Niall is good at juggling pints in any universe. Liam sits and thanks him for the coke, and Niall drops a few menus in front of them.

“It’s honestly so cool to see you. Both of you,” Liam takes a sip of his drink and smiles softly. “It’s just so out of the blue. I’d sort of put that whole thing behind me I guess.”

“What’ve you been up to, then, mate?” Niall is beaming, genuinely pleased to see Liam again. “Still kicking around old Wolvie?”

Liam shrugs sheepishly.

“Yeah…just…I dunno. I’ve mostly been working and running. Kinda threw myself into that when the singing didn’t work out, you know? I’d nearly given the running up entirely when I went out for X-Factor again, but I guess I felt like the universe was trying to steer me back that way or something. Been with a club out here for a while. Mostly cross-country stuff. Won some ribbons, that sort of thing. Dating a nice girl. Just…regular type stuff.” He smiles and his eyes go all crinkly. He shakes his head. “I’m proper boring, you know? What about you lads? I mean…I kind of know what you’ve been up to, Harry. But I haven’t seen Niall since we were bunkmates.”

“It was good times, that.”

“Yeah. I really…it was good, you know? Having you around. Helped me loosen up, like. I was so _serious_ about it all. When we were booted, it was like…wow. Just wow. I was crushed, you know? I couldn’t believe they put me through that a second time. I was like proper angry for a bit even. But I get it now. It’s like…it wasn’t meant to be. And my life is good the way it is. It’s not all stage lights and world tours or anything, but it’s good.”

“Who’s the girl?” As soon as Harry says it, he realizes how abrupt and strange it sounds. Not like a casual inquiry. Not simple curiosity. He sounds tense. He tries to smile and make it less weird, but he sees Liam’s face and knows he’s a little thrown by Harry’s tone.

“Uh…Her name’s Soph. Sophia. We’ve known each other for…gosh, _ages_ now. Like we were in school together. But we just sort of reconnected a couple years ago. She’s fantastic. Just _really_ cool.”

Harry can’t help the face he’s making. It’s so weird, and not weird at all. Something about knowing that Liam and Sophia have ended up together, that they’re still Liam and Sophia even here, where everything is turned around and wrong, it makes him feel brave. It’s like…maybe fate is a real force, pushing him down the right track. Maybe he’s genuinely meant to find them all, bring them all back together.

“Listen,” he’s not certain what he wants to say, how to explain any of it. He sees Niall giving him a strange look, like he’s worried, or like he wants to interject, but Harry needs to say his piece. To explain. To let Liam know that it all means something. “The thing is that…I’ve got this theory.” He glances over at Niall, then back at Liam. “ _We’ve_ got this theory—that maybe things were meant to go differently.”

Liam just frowns over at him, confused.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…listen this might sound crazy, but I woke up a few days ago and I _remembered_. Like…I remembered that everything was meant to be different. You were never meant to be booted off of X-Factor. None of us were. What was meant to happen is that Simon was meant to put us in a group. Like a band. We were meant to compete together. You, me, Niall and two others, and we were meant to come in third.”

Liam sits there and stares at him for a moment, and the look on his face is…not what Harry would like to see. It’s pained. Something close to disgust or anger. He puts his glass of cola down on the table and presses his hands into his thighs. Niall is looking back and forth between the two of them. He looks anxious, like he’s trying to get a read on the situation.

“Listen.” Liam looks down at the table, and his face is hard. “I’m not sure what this is about, but I’m not going to sit here and let you take the piss. So if this is one of those like…celebrity prank shows—“

“Liam, we’re not…He didn’t mean…” Niall is struggling.

“Are they paying you to be a part of this, then? Seems a bit cruel. You were booted off too, right? You’re just cool with this whole thing? Christ.”

Harry holds his hands up placatingly. This is all going…not the way he planned.

“No, Liam—listen. I’m serious. Something is very wrong and I’m just trying to _fix_ it. I just want…I want us to be a band again. Just give me a chance to explain—”

“Mate, we were _never_ a band. Christ, why am I even humoring you lot?” He stands up. “Listen, you can tell your hidden camera crew or whatever that I don’t want to be a part of whatever silly TV game you’ve got going. Just like…leave me out of it.”

He turns and grabs his coat as Niall jumps up out of his chair.

“Liam wait, just let me—“

He doesn’t wait. He shoves his arms into his coat and mutters a thanks for the drink, because Liam is nothing if not unfailingly polite, even when he’s livid, then he walks out.

Harry watches him go and feels deflated. He feels crushed. This is not how it’s meant to go. It’s supposed to be all teary hugs and falling into place and instant camaraderie. This wasn’t the plan.

“I’ll be right back, ok?”

Harry nods, and Niall runs out the door after Liam. He’s gone for what feels like a very long time. When he comes back, his jaw is set. He downs the rest of his beer and grabs his jacket.

“Listen, I’m going to spend some time with him, ok?”

“Is he alright? Does he hate me?”

“He doesn’t hate you, Harry. He’s just freaked out. We should maybe like…work on our delivery a bit. For the others. We’re gonna go running and talk about things and just like…catch up. I’ve nearly got him turned round we just…we’ve got to ease him into it, ok?”

Harry nods down at his beer. He feels sullen. Like he should be the one driving this effort. But it makes sense. It makes sense that Niall would be the one. Liam knows him. They’re old mates. He looks up.

“Running? What about your knee?”

Niall just stares at him.

“What about it?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“I’m gonna go with him. The plant let him have the rest of the day anyway. I’ll work on him, ok? Don’t know what I’m going to do for running shoes but I’ll figure it, I guess. Run in my supras if need be.”

“You can borrow a pair from Liam.”

“I don’t even know if—“

“You are. The same size, I mean.”

He looks up then, because Niall doesn’t answer him. Niall’s face is strange. It’s a little like Liam’s face was, just a moment ago.

“I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this. At not making this weird.”

“It’s fine, Harry. It’s just…a lot. Listen, just head back to London and put me on an evening flight. I’ll sort this, ok? He’ll come round.”

He’s gone before Harry can say okay.

 

* * *

 

 

Louis is 20 minutes late to their lunch date, which Harry really sort of expected. Niall seems a little anxious while they wait, like he’s worried Louis won’t show at all. He’s laughing a lot in the particular tight way he does when things aren’t going quite according to plan, and Harry adjusts his own vibe accordingly, relaxing into his chair and reading the menu to Niall in a poncey sort of voice. They order drinks. Niall opts for a pint and Harry orders a green juice, which is what he always orders in this place. When he asked his agent to schedule the lunch, he’d not considered that she would go with standard operating procedure, or how Louis might feel about that. The closest thing they’ve got to a burger here is some sort of grass-fed steak tartar, artfully arranged over an assortment of mystery sauces and leafy greens.

Harry hasn’t seen Niall all weekend. He’d flown back on Friday evening, later than Harry’d expected, then texted Harry an update, letting him know that Liam had come round eventually. That he’d agreed to travel down and see them, once they’d pinned everyone down. Niall had been uncharacteristically reticent when Harry had pressed him for details, assuring him that he had it under control. That he and Liam had come to an understanding of sorts.

“You know how he is, Harry. I mean, even _I_ remember. He was always so cautious. He just like…needed to get brave. I helped him get there.”

Harry watches Niall across the table. He wants to press again. To know what they talked about. But he resists the urge. It’s not all about him, honestly. Niall and Liam are Niall and Liam. He doesn’t need to understand.

The past couple days has been a whirlwind of promo. Two days of interviews and meetings that’s left him on the edge of exhaustion. It’s brutal, doing this on his own. No one to pinch-hit on his least favorite questions. No in-jokes or sleep-deprived prank digressions. It’s just very…boring.

Niall sips his beer and taps the heel of a trainer against the leg of his chair, which is visibly annoying a business-suit-wearing man at the next table. Harry is peering down at his phone and biting distractedly at the side of his tongue when Louis arrives.

“Oy, lads, sorry I’m late.”

He doesn’t offer an excuse, which is a very Louis thing to do, so that much is the same. He drops into the free seat and picks a menu up off the table. Harry looks up from his phone and is struck dumb. It’s Louis, but he’s so much more… _Louis_. His hair is carefully trimmed and artfully undone and he’s wearing a smart outfit, the sort of thing he might’ve worn years ago, during their first tour: a tailored button-up and fitted trousers. Leather shoes. He’s not got the braces, but they might be a nice touch. He looks…good. Proper. Well fed. A little tired. He’s smiling the small polite sort of smile he wears in interviews, when he’s meant to be on his best behavior. Harry smiles back and realizes he’s not thought of anything to say. Hasn’t actually said one word since Louis walked in. Louis offers his hand.

“Hi. It’s uh…been a while.”

Harry shakes Louis’s hand. The contact is jarring and feels strangely illicit, the way it always does, and Harry can’t help glancing around the room to see who’s looking. Old habits. But old habits don’t apply here, do they? It’s a thing he hadn’t really considered until just now, until Louis’s hands was in his, firm and sure and completely lacking in all that other stuff, the caution and hesitation and doubt that’s learned over time, once you’ve been truly and properly burned.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you again. You look…you look great.”

Louis looks at him quizzically for a second and Harry realizes that’s sort of a weird thing to say to a relative stranger. He moves on.

“You remember Niall?”

Louis turns and his face lights up.

“Christ! Wow. I barely recognized you without the blond. Of course I remember Niall. Little Irish guitar hero. _You’re_ all grown up.”

Niall laughs and worries at the hair around his ear for a moment, uncomfortable with the attention. Harry thinks he’s blushing a little, which is adorable. Louis half stands and gives Niall a quick awkward hug over the table.

“Wow. _Wow_. I haven’t thought of boot camp in like… _years_ , you know?” He reaches up and messes with his fringe a little. It’s a small, careful movement. Self-conscious and deliberate and familiar. Harry feels a little lost in time. It’s like he’s seeing a Louis that’s a strange amalgamation. He looks like Louis at 19, fresh faced and puckish and smart, but with the gentle wear of half a decade. It’s disorienting. Harry blinks and tries to clear his head, then snaps the menu shut.

“Listen. Do you want to like…go somewhere else?”

“What?” Niall looks like he’s been thrown a curve-ball. Louis looks hesitant, like he’s sizing Harry up before he speaks.

“It’s just…there’s a pub down the road that’s got real food. Fish and chips and stuff. We could get a burger or something. I just…you never really liked this sort of place—” he clamps his mouth shut before he says anything more. He doesn’t want to freak Louis out. Doesn’t want to drive him away with all that weird uncanny valley stuff. But Louis just smiles and laughs.

“ _God_ yes. Please. Let’s.”

“I’m game. Can’t understand half the shit on this menu anyway.” Niall downs the rest of his pint and pulls his coat on.

Harry pulls out his wallet and tosses some bills down on the table. It’s probably too much but that’s sort of expected anyway. They give a quick wave to the maitre’d and slip out the door. It’s cold outside and as Harry holds the door open for Louis, he spots a pap loitering across the street and smoking a cigarette. Without thinking, he moves to place Niall between them as a sort of buffer. It’s like second nature now, this hyper-vigilance, a constant accounting for space when Louis is around. He keeps forgetting that it doesn’t apply here and every time it dawns on him anew, he feels a little thrilled. A little lighter. Like he’s been freed of a weight he wasn’t even aware he was carrying.

They get to the pub and slip inside. It’s fortuitously empty, just a few salty-looking regulars parked at the bar. The barkeep does a double take when they walk in, her eyes falling on Niall first with an unremarkable sort of interest, then on Harry and Louis in turn. Harry can see her trying to process. It looks like she’s short circuiting for a moment, then she composes herself and nods in their direction, smiling.

“Afternoon, lads. Anywhere’s good, yeah?” Her voice sounds a little high and reedy and nervous but she means well. Harry appreciates it when people try to make it not weird because it is so often very _very_ weird. But on a day like today, when plans are abandoned and things go all spontaneous, if you find the right place and the right people, it can feel almost normal. Harry can sense Louis loosening up. The set of his shoulders isn’t so firm; his smile seems a little more natural. He thanks the woman and calls her “love” and she looks like she might faint for a moment before she pulls herself together.

They find a table in a dark corner and settle in. Niall throws his feet up on an empty chair and peruses the menu, which is just a sheet of thick yellowed stock. He seems very satisfied with the change of venue. When the woman comes back around they each order a pint and some food. Louis orders the most absurd burger on the menu. Niall opts for fish and chips and asks for a bottle of malt vinegar. Harry settles on a salad and earns a ribbing from Louis and Niall. They make it into way more of a thing than it really needs to be, but Harry can’t even bring himself to care. He just sits there, watching them laugh at him and he’s filled with this great and encompassing sense of rightness. The feeling of home. He wonders if Louis senses it too.

“So is this what lunch was all about then, you lads are just on some kind of nostalgia trip?”

Niall and Harry exchange a glance and Harry opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Niall speaks.

“Yeah…yeah that’s kind of it really.” Niall flashes Harry another look and it feels pointed. Deliberate. _Not yet_. Harry looks down at the table, then up at Louis.

“Yeah I just…started to wonder what happened to everyone, you know? There were a few of you I had a real laugh with.”

“Yeah…” Louis leans back in the chair and fiddles with his fork. “It was good times. God…I don’t even know what I was thinking though. Like…I was never really cut out for all that rubbish, was I?”

“You were brilliant!” Niall looks disbelieving.

“Well, thank you very much, Niall, but I don’t know. I think it was always bound to be this for me. I’m an actor, not a singer. Not with this voice.”

“I love your voice.” Harry regrets it the minute it comes out of him. It’s not something he should say here. Not something this Harry should say. Louis makes a face, like he’s uncomfortable and flattered all at once.

“Well…thank you. You and my mother I suppose.” He laughs. “You know I tried to audition with a group? Like I tried to get some of my mates to go with me. I didn’t think I had the chops to stand-alone. I was right, of course. But it was like…an _experience_ , you know?”

“Yeah…” Niall nods and sips at his pint. “It was an experience. Fecking brutal getting cut though.”

“Yeah…that part was…not fun. You wouldn’t know about all that, Harry. X-Factor winner Harry Styles! Number one in 35 countries Harry Styles!”

“But that’s…it doesn’t make any sense, you know? None of this stuff makes any sense.” Their food arrives then, and they’re all quiet for a moment while things are sorted out. “I just…I feel like it’s blind luck in a way. It could’ve been any of us. It could’ve been all of us.” He looks over at Niall. “You know? There were just some of you lads that really…stuck with me. I guess I wanted to like…reconnect.”

Louis takes a bite of his burger and swallows, nodding.

“You’re having one of them…whatchamacallits…my agent calls it Culkin-ing. You’re going through all the like ‘Who am I? Why me?’ rubbish, yeah? I guess it’s a thing that happens when you get thrown into this stuff quite young.”

Niall swallows a bite of fish and a frowns.

“Culkin-ing? Like ‘aaaaaaah!’?” He presses a palm to either side of his face and whisper-screams. He looks like that famous painting. The depressing one with the ghastly-looking man on the bridge. Louis waves a chip in his direction and nods.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Harry pokes at his salad.

“Yeah…maybe you’re right.”

Louis takes a bite of burger and swallows.

“It makes complete sense though. You know that, right? It was always going to be you. Do you remember we took that picture together, early on. I don’t expect you to—”

“I remember.”

“Sure…yeah. But like…I knew when I met you that you had _it_ , whatever they were looking for, that you were going somewhere. It was all a pipe dream for me, you know? It wasn’t what I was meant for. I never had…whatever it is you have. And I’m ok with that. It all turned out ok, you know? Anyway, it’s fine if you’re having a thing, Harry. This fame thing is…hard sometimes.” Louis’s voice has gone soft around the edges suddenly. “I’ve had one or two spells. I’m just…” He looks over at Niall. “I’m glad you lads got in touch. It’s cool, you know?” He laughs suddenly, sharp and loud. “You know, I thought for a minute you were trying to like…break into acting and wanted my help.”

Niall and Harry exchange a glance, and then suddenly they’re all laughing. Louis with what seems like relief, Harry in disbelief. Niall is just laughing. Niall will laugh at anything really.

“Fuck. Can you imagine?” Harry shakes his head. “Not in a thousand years. In no fucking possible universe would I ever…”

Niall shrugs and takes a drink.

“Technically, though…I mean…”

“I know, I know…technically. I just don’t like thinking of it.”

“Well, technically there’s a universe out there where I’m not this ruggedly handsome. I don’t like thinking of _that_ , but that doesn’t make it not true.”

Louis just stares at them for a moment.

“You two are a little mental, has anyone told you that?”

“Yes.” They say it in unison, and that sets all three of them off again.

 

* * *

 

 

They sit in the pub for some hours, long after their plates have been taken away—reminiscing, catching up, Louis sinking lower in his seat as his voice goes up in volume. Harry feels oddly rapt. It’s such a surreal experience, listening to this Louis. Once he gets comfortable, it’s like he’s glowing. Like he’s filling the whole room. There’s something very particularly different about him and when Harry puts his finger on it, it’s simple and obvious and it hits like a punch in the gut. This Louis seems…happy. At ease with himself. There’s nothing bitter or acrid in the way he speaks, even his Louis-brand cynicism is laced with an alien sort of optimism.

Harry’d always worried that their celebrity weighed on Louis in a different sort of way…touched on his insecurities a little too deeply. He wanted so badly to shield Louis from all that, or at least like…distract him. Make him feel appreciated and loved and seen. But even that had come back around to burn them in the end. It hurts Harry to consider it, but maybe singing was never meant to be the thing for Louis; he’s frankly always hated his own voice, but having someone’s undivided attention brings him to life in a way—Louis has always understood how to command an audience.

They part ways at 5 past, exchanging goodbyes on the curb in front of the pub. A couple paps seem to have caught on to the change of venue and are hovering across the street. Harry falls into familiar patterns again without thinking, becoming hyper-aware of his proximity to Louis. He feels himself tense up and withdraw, but then Louis is there at his side, pulling him into a hug. For an instant every cell in Harry’s body is in revolt but it’s just…happening. It’s complete and full and genuine and there’s nothing held back and nothing forced. It feels amazing. Harry lets himself relax into it and suddenly he’s filled with a gross desperation, like he wants to cling to this Louis forever. To never let him go. Then Louis is pulling away and holding him at arm’s length. He’s smiling and there’s nothing fraught in his face. Nothing regretful or pained, just genuine warmth. Harry allows himself to soak it in.

“It was honestly great to see you lads. I didn’t even realize how much I’d…” he trails off then and they just smile at each other.

“We’re having a thing…at Harry’s place after the holiday. Getting a couple other lads over for a visit. You remember Liam?”

Louis laughs and lets Harry go. “The donut? God, you’ve seen _him_? He was such an adorable tight-ass. I honestly wanted to pop him couple times just to loosen him up.”

“Yeah…I remember.” Harry shakes his head. “Shit, I nearly forgot. The holiday! Happy almost birthday!”

Louis looks a little perplexed. “Yeah, thanks. A couple days off now.”

“Happy birthday and Merry Christmas!” Niall yells it into the air, his breath coming out of his mouth in little white puffs. Harry grabs at his sleeve, laughing.

“Quit making a scene. Christ. I need to get a muzzle for you.”

“You sound like my mum. ‘Shut up, yer embarrassing me!’”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“I _am_ your mum. I’m everyone’s mum. Anyway, you’ll come, yeah Louis? You’ve got to come.”

Louis is laughing softly, watching Niall. He still looks a little perplexed, like he’s figured out that something isn’t quite adding up. But he doesn’t say anything. He pulls a knitted beanie out of his coat pocket and shoves it onto his head, nodding.

“Sure. I’ll come. Just let me know when and where, yeah?”

“Sick.” Niall pulls Louis in for another hug and then they go their separate ways. The paps across the street look a little like anxious hens for a moment, trying to weigh their options and decide on a course. Harry watches them as he and Niall start down the block, thinking about all the little choices he’s made. All the forks in the road. This way or that. If he thinks too hard on it he starts to feel overwhelmed, so he forces it out of his mind and bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own.

“Why’d you play it like that?”

“Hmm? Oh…I just—“ He trails off and bites at a fingernail. Harry reaches up and bats his hand away without thinking.

“Oy! Watch it, mate.”

“Sorry…I just hate it when you worry at yourself like that.”

“I’m not going to eat myself alive, I’m just—” He shoves his hand deliberately into his coat pocket. “Jesus. You really _are_ my mum. Anyway I just think…he’s squirrely, you know? He’s got like…defenses. I just think maybe we should ease him into it. You saw how Liam reacted. He nearly told us to fuck right off…I just think maybe baby steps is the thing.”

Harry stares down at the pavement.

“Yeah maybe.”

They walk quietly for a moment. Harry hears someone call his name and doesn’t look up. Niall seems confused for a moment but keeps pace. Doesn’t react.

“What’d you say to him, anyway?”

“Who?” Niall looks over at him, confused. “Oh! Uh…we just…talked I guess.”

“About what? I just…I thought for a minute there we’d lost him, you know?”

Harry feels Niall’s hand at his elbow, tugging him to a stop. He turns and Niall looks a little red, like he’s been caught in a lie.

“I uh…” he glances over at the paps, down at the pavement, then up at Harry. “I told him you’re having a…um…” he taps the side of his head. “that I’ve agreed to like—“

“You told him I’ve gone crazy?”

“Errr…not _crazy_. I just…I said they’ve asked me to like play along and mind you for a bit.”

Harry wants to feel angry or betrayed or _something_ but he’s not any of that. He wonders for the thousandth time what he would do without Niall.

“Yeah…that’s probably the clever thing, isn’t it? It’s a lot to just…accept. But I can’t help feeling like if we get everyone _together_ …manage to get us all in the same room…”

“Yeah. Same.”

They reach Niall’s car and climb in. Niall turns the engine over and lets it warm up for a moment, holding his hands over the dashboard vents. Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time.

“Just Zayn then.”

“Yeah…just him…” Niall laughs softly, staring out the windscreen at the street. “Just the mysterious one.”

Harry knows what he means. He’s never met Zayn before, somehow has no real memory of him. But the wording jars him. Sometimes this version of real life seems less like an alternate universe and more like a remix. The same melody, the same lyrics, just…reimagined. Messed around.

“You want to come back to mine?” Harry frowns down his phone. “Nick’s giving us the boot. Says paps are catching on and I’ve got to make myself scarce.”

Niall merges into traffic and wipes at the windscreen with the arm of his coat.

“Yeah I’m down. Gonna miss that dog.” He looks over at Harry, down at the phone, then back at the road. “Are you two like…I mean…you don’t have to tell me if you don’t—“

“No.” Harry waves his hand in the air distractedly. “No it’s fine. We’re not.”

“You’re just like…good mates then?”

“Yeah. Nick’s…” Harry shrugs, at a loss for words. “He’s a saint, you know? He puts up with a lot.”

Niall nods slowly and glances over at Harry again.

“Is it like that…in the other place? Are you tight with him? I mean…you’ve got all of us, haven’t you?”

“Yeah…it’s the same. Actually Nick’s like the most normal thing about all this. He’s like…my constant, you know?”

“Yeah. That’s good. I’m glad you’ve got one.”

They don’t say anything for a while, then Niall shakes his head like he’s just woken up.

“Sorry, I just realized I’m driving us to my place.”

“That’s fine, I can call a car.”

“No! No. I mean, I’m just gonna grab a couple things. My toothbrush and all that rubbish. Just didn’t want you to think I’m kidnappin’ you or something.”

“No, that’s cool. That’s good. I can see where you live. Kidnap away.”

Niall shrugs and adjusts the heater.

“It’s not Buckingham Palace or anything. It’s just…you know…home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry doesn’t know what he expected to find at Niall’s flat but it’s…just Niall’s flat, really. He’s got the same framed posters. Photos of the Rat Pack, Sinatra’s mug shot next to the TV. It’s all just slightly less expensive looking. No gold records or Moonmen or Brits lining the shelves. A few football trophies, some signed photos of various sports type people. It’s Niall’s flat but more lived in, which makes sense, really. He must spend so much more time at home here. Harry thinks of Louis and finds himself wondering which Niall is the happier Niall. Which one is true. But chasing that train of thought makes his head hurt, and anyway it might be an impossible thing to parse out. Maybe every version of a given person is the right one. Maybe it’s the getting there that makes it real.

Niall is in the bedroom, pulling things out of the closet, and Harry realizes suddenly that he’s packing for a trip. Or like…an extended stay. It’s not something Harry had really considered, but he’s not bothered. He’s the opposite of bothered really. More like relieved. He doesn’t want to be alone in that house. He thinks that much would be the same in any given universe.

“Can I use your computer?” He sits down at the desk in the corner and opens the laptop sitting there. It prompts him to enter a password and he does, just as Niall pokes his head out the bedroom door.

“Go for it, mate. The passwo—ah. Ok. I guess you know the password then.”

Harry swivels around in the chair and raises his hands apologetically.

“Sorry.”

Niall just shrugs in the twitchy, bothered _I’m-not-bothered_ sort of way he does and goes back to packing.

Niall’s desktop photo is the Derby logo and that makes Harry smile. He can’t help noticing a couple folders there labeled “harry stuff” and “louis stuff” but he doesn’t open either. It seems invasive somehow. He opens a browser window and starts searching. He calls into the bedroom as he types.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember Zayn!”

“Dunno, mate. There were a lot of lads, you know?”

“But he was like…” Harry is poking around youtube, looking for footage from bootcamp. “Here we go, come out here.”

Niall obliges, joining Harry at the computer. When he arrives, Harry makes room in the chair and pats at the seat absent-mindedly. It’s the sort of thing he does without thinking, and as Niall sits gingerly on the edge of the seat he realizes it’s a weird thing to offer to someone you barely know. Like “sit yourself down let’s have a cuddle”. But Niall’s not a stranger. He’s got to believe that. Niall’s shoulder presses into his and he seems a little tense at first. Uncertain. Then he relaxes. Like he’s just decided to say “fuck it” and go with whatever.

Harry clicks play on a video. It’s the day with the dancing. 8 hours of popping and locking and electric sliding that felt like some kind of sadistic hell, in which Zayn featured quite prominently. Harry clicks at the timer bar and pulls it along, fast-forwarding through the video, trying to catch a glimpse of Zayn’s familiar face.

“He hated the dancing. He’s like…so particular and conscious of how he’s coming off, you know? He’s terrified of embarrassing himself. And he’s still…I guess he’s always been like that, but I think the band was really good for him. Sort of like…made him feel safe, having all of us right there, embarrassing ourselves along with him. Shit. I must’ve missed it. Hold on.”

He’s gotten to the end credits, and he must’ve been half looking because he completely missed Zayn. He’s got to be remembering it right, though. It’s not like Louis, where there was barely any footage before they were put into a group. Zayn was all over this episode. Nearly got kicked off for refusing to dance. He scrolls through the entire video once more. No Zayn. Something is coalescing in his head now. Puzzle pieces are falling into place.

“No fucking way.”

“Is it different? Is he supposed to be there?” Niall sounds excited, like this is some kind of momentous discovery. He might be right.

“I just…I think this is _it_. This is what’s changed. Because you look at the four of us and we’re not…we’re not enough, are we?”

“Well _I_ think we’re brill, but…yeah. Yeah I get that.”

“But Zayn is like… _insane_. You’ll see. He’s like Beyonce or something. Like he’s got this face and this _voice_. It’s not just Zayn though…I mean, it could’ve been _any_ of us. We’ve always said, none of this would’ve worked without all five. Take one of us out of the equation and…”

“No One Direction.”

“No One Direction.” Harry laughs suddenly, loud and sharp, and he feels Niall nearly slide off the edge of the chair in surprise. “Oh god. I should have figured it out the minute you said you didn’t remember him.”

“What?”

“Fucking lazy bastard…he never got out of bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

The house feels cold when they arrive. Harry knows it’s just his imagination. Everything is on a timer and it’s never really properly _cold_ , but the house feels empty. That much hasn’t changed. He’s never really felt at ease at here. It’s different in LA. Something about the distance, which seems backwards, but LA feels more comfortable in its detachment and anonymity. It’s a space he’s chosen for himself. Somehow the familiarity of London makes solitude feel lonelier. He spends an inordinate amount of time in Nick’s guest room, at the studio, on friends’ couches. Maybe being on tour so much for so many years has warped him in a way. He feels at home in transitional spaces. Places that aren’t quite familiar. That aren’t quite his.

It’s worse here. The house is like a museum. Back home, in the other place, it’s filled with reminders of the lads. Of the journey they’ve made together. Here, it’s just Harry. His name all over the walls. His face. It’s weird and narcissistic and incomplete.

When they get inside, Niall drops his bag on the floor and moves around the room, staring at the walls, reading plaques and posters and the etchings on platinum records. He touches things lightly as he passes, running his finger along the edge of an AMA or tapping at the head of a Brit. Harry takes his coat off and tosses it on the couch, then heads to the kitchen.

“You want a beer?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Hungry again yet?”

“How did you know?”

Harry laughs to himself and grabs two lagers out of the icebox. He bumps the door lightly with a shoulder to swing it shut.

“Actually…” Niall is holding a Moonman in his hand when Harry comes back, testing its heft. “Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t ask you how you know anything. That’s obvious, innit?”

Harry hands him a bottle and he sets the award back down on the shelf.

“Is it too weird? I can try to stop. I think it really freaked Liam out and…just…you can tell me if any of this is too weird, ok?”

“Yeah.” Niall crouches down and busies himself peering at photos. “Yeah I know.”

Harry watches him quietly. It’s oddly comforting, watching Niall become acquainted with all this stuff. It’s like he’s anointing it in a way, leaving a little trace of himself on each piece of Harry’s past. It makes things feel a little warmer. A little more alive. Harry takes a drink of his beer and wipes his mouth.

“Curry?”

Niall nods.

“Yeah. Spicy.”

“Got it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Once the curry arrives, they settle in on the couch with the laptop and start searching for Zayn, which is fruitless and frustrating until Harry remembers that Zayn wasn’t always _Zayn_. It’s such an obvious thing that he feels like an idiot and when it dawns on him suddenly, he halfway inhales a bite of vindaloo. Niall runs to the kitchen and comes back with another beer, offering it to Harry as if it’s a refreshing glass of water. Which…yeah ok, beer basically _is_ water to Niall, right?

He washes the curry down and clears his throat. His eyes are watering like crazy and he wipes them on the back of a hand.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Ha. Yeah, I just realized I’m an idiot.”

“Just now, huh? Wow.”

“Shut up. I mean we’re searching all wrong. He wasn’t Zayn with a Y when we started out, he used to spell it different. Search it with an I.”

“Right. Cool.” Niall wipes his hands on his jeans and types out the search. “Aha! That’s more like it. Zain Malik, Bradford.”

Harry leans in.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“How can you tell, there’s no photo. It’s just like…some kinda…”

“Graffiti. Yeah. Yeah that’s gotta be him. Does it say anything about work?”

“Nah he’s all private and stuff.”

“Shit. Of course he is. Uh…here. Google Danny and Ant. If they’re public we’ll be able to figure _something_ out.”

Their break comes when they track down Ant’s instagram account. Harry finds it by searching on his phone, then immediately drops it on the table and has Niall key the URL into the computer. No way in hell is he scrolling around all willy-nilly in Ant’s instagram with two beers in him. He’s learned that particular lesson before. Niall brings it up in the browser and clicks on the photo Harry directs him to. It’s a shot taken in what looks like a bookstore of someone holding up a Bob Marley poster. It’s obscuring his face, but Harry can see his forearm and that’s enough to know.

“That’s him.”

“How do you know?”

He taps the screen.

“Tattoo. The tattoo’s the same. Look though.”

Niall peers at the caption. _@niazkilam stirrin it up on the clock_.

“At Salt’s Mill, Shipley.”

Harry picks his phone up off the table and does a search.

“It’s an old mill in Bradford. They put shops and stuff in there. ‘On the clock’…he must work there. This is it. This is how we find him.”

Niall pumps his fist happily.

“Get in. We’re like the best detectives in the world.”

“I just…” Harry bites his lip. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“It’s him, yeah. But it’s Zayn. Like…you thought Louis was squirrely. Louis is a peach. Zayn is like… _made_ of boundaries. He’s slow to trust. I just…don’t want to freak him out running in there like ‘HI I’M HARRY WE’RE MEANT TO BE FRIENDS’.”

Harry frowns down at his phone. He’s missed a flurry of texts. He’s been ignoring a lot lately. It’s going to come back to bite him eventually.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I can’t leave London right now. I’ve got all this…stuff.”

“Famous person stuff?—Oh! You’ve got that Christmas thing.”

“Yeah. That Christmas thing. I’m meant to be in rehearsals all day tomorrow, then there’s this private party…It’s…business. Work stuff.”

“Well,” Niall takes a swig of his beer and sets it down. “That’s perfect then.”

“Your definition of perfect seems…odd.”

“No, listen! You don’t want to pop in there all _Harry Styles: rock star_ , right? Wanna like ease him into it. So let me go. I’ll be like…incognito. Like an advanced scouting party.”

“You want to _spy_ on him?”

“Yeah! No! I dunno! I’ll just warm him up or whatever.”

Harry looks down at the computer. At the photo of Zayn…or Zain, rather. He’s so familiar, Harry thinks he would’ve known him even without the tattoos. He wants to be the one to go, honestly. He wants to run into the shop and drag Zain out of there. It’s that Graduate thing again. He wants everything to fall into place. But life isn’t a movie. You can’t just tear people away from their lives and expect them to thank you. Not everyone is Niall.

“Don’t you have to work or something?”

Niall shrugs and swallows a bite of naan.

“Got it covered. No big deal.”

“Ok. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“You’re always right. And you’re like Zayn’s favorite person anyway; that’s got to be the same in any possible universe.”

Niall laughs. Hey might be blushing, but the living room is dark and his hand is up by his face, fiddling with his ear.

“Sick. Book me a flight, Daddy Warbucks, and I’ll be on my way.”

 

* * *

 

  

The rehearsal is long and tedious and incredibly boring, but he’s got to be there for the whole thing apparently. Harry suspects it’s more about being _seen_ by or with particular people than it is about running through the program, so he does his duty, moving around the room and shaking hands and kissing cheeks and generally putting on a good friendly face. It’s exhausting. Like more exhausting than it’s ever been, and he realizes suddenly that without the boys there along for the ride it just feels like…work. It’s like an amusement park or something. It’s not really the same thing when you’re just wandering through it and taking rides all alone.

He’s talking with a very sweet woman by the craft services table, congratulating her on her pregnancy, when his phone vibrates and he excuses himself quickly to check his messages.

_just landed. Flight crew’s friendly when you’re not around_

Harry rolls his eyes. He’d noticed that. Things are different here. The way people approach him, the way management interacts. It’s all slightly off. A little more tight and business-like. It makes sense, really. He’s more like a commodity here. Less like one member of a big family.

_You get the car?_

_Yeah. Fucking freeeeezin up here ! How’s the rock star stuff ?_

_Dull and uneventful and businessy._

He stares down at his phone for a moment, biting the side of his tongue, his thumb hovering over the send button.

_Wish you were here._

He hits send. After a moment Niall responds.

_I’d be terrible ! I’d eat all the food. I’ll hit you up when I get there. Get back to work !_

Niall _would_ be terrible at this. They’re all terrible at it really, in the best possible way.

He’s been trying not to wonder what will become of them. Like once all of this is sorted. He’s not really sure what he expects to accomplish by gathering them all together in one room. Maybe it’ll be like magnets or something. They’ll all just fall into place. Align their polarities. Maybe things will sort themselves out and he’ll wake up back home. In his proper home, where they’re all just a phone call away. The one where he’s not so singular. Not so alone.

But if that doesn’t happen…Liam’s got a life. He understands that. Louis and maybe Zain too. They’re all set on some sort of path. He hopes they can be friends. He hopes they’ll stay together, as much as they can in this place, with these lives. He’d like to make it easy for them. God knows he’s got the means.

Then there’s Niall. What he really wonders about is Niall. Because they’ve already sort of fallen into place, haven’t they? Harry wonders if Niall will go back to work at the pub. He thinks about leaving on tour again, leaving Niall behind. It’s…upsetting. Like now he’s found him he doesn’t want to let go. Harry supposes it’s that way with all of them but…it’s something else with Niall. Niall has just always been more… _his_.

It doesn’t make any sense, what he’s thinking. It’s not a thing he’s ever had to suss out before, his particular connection to each boy, the individual roles they play. So he tries to set it aside for now and focus on the task at hand, which is mostly schmoozing and making good with media types. He’s posing for a photo with the daughter of some Virgin exec when his phone buzzes again.

_Here now. Staking out the print shop._

Harry is about to slip his phone back into his pocket when it buzzes again. Niall’s sent a photo. He opens it and sees a copy of the latest Harry Styles biography lying on top of a stack of books. It says some rubbish about “in his own words” on the cover.

_Fancy a copy ? 50% off for Christmas. What a steal !_

Harry smiles and bites his lip.

_Fuck off and get to work_

Niall responds with a monkey emoji. The one hiding its face. That makes Harry smile again because Niall is so fucking predictable.

_Shit I think I see him._

Harry feels his breath catch. He excuses himself and heads for the hallway outside the theater. As he walks, his phone buzzes again.

_JESUS CHRIST, HARRY._

Harry feels his heart racing in his chest. What if there’s something terribly wrong? Honestly anything could’ve happened in the past four years. Horrible disfigurement or loss of limb. He fumbles with his phone and calls Niall.

Niall picks up on the second ring, his voice a sharp whisper.

“Why are you calling me? He’s right there.”

“What’s wrong? Is he ok? Why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not! It’s just…you could’ve warned me, you know? He’s like…fucking unreal. Like a model or something.”

Harry breathes out sharply and feels himself relax.

“I thought I _did_ warn you. Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, I just…god. I see what you mean, you know? About us not being enough. We’re like chopped liver next to that. He’s all like…eyelashes and cheekbones and tattoos.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Niall. You’re the cute one.”

“Fuck me. If I’m the cute one, he’s like…a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Is it going to be a problem?”

“Nah! No no, just scrambled my brain a little. I’m good I’m just creepin’ around, you know? I just ducked out to the commissary. He—SHIT.”

“What?!”

“He’s coming out! I think he’s off work or something.”

“Steady, Ni.”

“I’m going after him. He’s heading to the cafe down the way. I’m just…I’ll see what he does. Maybe I can…”

He trails off. Harry hears the sound of a crowded shop, the white noise of holiday shoppers racing to find a last minute gift or three.

“Be careful, Niall! Don’t freak him out.”

“I won’t! Get back to work! I’ll call you in a few, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

Niall doesn’t call in a few. He doesn’t call until that evening, when Harry’s over at Nick’s, getting ready for the Syco Christmas party. They’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror, arranging collars and sorting out their hair and Nick is grumbling about how his collar looks all wrong. Harry’s wondering if they should just swap shirts when his phone buzzes. He hurries out to the bedroom and sits down on the bed.

“What happened to you? I thought you’d been arrested.”

“Nope! Not arrested just…uh…”

“What?”

“He caught me.”

“He _what?_ ”

“Not like that. He didn’t like catch me creeping around or whatever. I just followed him, right? Into this cafe and he got a coffee and sat down and I got a coffee and sat down and I was pulling out my phone to like _update_ you and he got up and came over.”

“He what?”

“He came and sat down with me.”

“But that’s…he doesn’t _know_ you.”

“That’s the fucking weird thing though, Harry. He _does_. He sat down and he was like ‘sorry to bother you but is your name Niall?’”

Harry shakes his head. Nick comes out of the bathroom, in the process of unbuttoning his shirt and looking thoroughly disgruntled. Harry catches his eye and tugs at his own collar, then gestures to Nick. Nick looks like Harry’s saved his life and nods. Harry holds the phone between his shoulder and ear as he talks and works at the buttons on his shirt.

“How the fuck did he know you? This is like twilight zone shit, Niall.”

“I know, right? I was fucking spun around. But I was like ‘yeah that’s me’ and he apologized and said he recognized me. From the X-Factor. Like just the boot camp stuff?”

“That’s _actually_ crazy.”

“You’re telling me, I was on there for like two minutes. But I guess he’s like…watched it. A lot.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Listen, I don’t think he’s going to be too much trouble after all, you know? Like I think he senses that something is…”

“Off.”

“Yeah. Like me, but not so…literal, you know?”

“Yeah. More like Zayn. More like a feeling.”

“We talked for a while and yeah, he didn’t get out of bed that day. Seems like he regrets it or feels like it wasn’t right. Got a little hung up on it or something.”

“Did you say anything? About us?” Harry tosses his shirt to Nick and takes Nick’s shirt in turn. “I mean about the whole… _thing_ …thing. I don’t even know what to call it.”

“No. I said that I’d kept up with you, with a few of the other lads too. Played it cool like.”

“Alright.”

“I told him you were coming up soon. That you’d be keen to meet him.”

“How on earth did you explain my coming up to Bradford, of all places?”

“Told him you were visiting a school or something. I dunno. Who cares, right? Famous people stuff.”

Harry sighs and maneuvers his arm into Nick’s shirt. “Yeah…famous people stuff. Hold on I’ve got to put a shirt on.”

He drops the phone on the bed and finishes sorting himself out. He closes the shirtfront from the bottom up and pauses at mid-chest, trying to gauge how many buttons is appropriate for a dinner party, then settles on stopping just above his navel. Nick in turn buttons Harry’s shirt all the way up to his neck and presents himself for approval. He looks nice. Nicer than Harry does in that shirt. Harry smiles and gives Nick a thumbs up as he retrieves the phone from the bed.

“It’s a bloody chore, you know?”

“Huh?” Niall sounds like he’s got something in his mouth.

“The famous people stuff. I just…it’s better…with you.”

“I’d reckon.”

“With you all. The lot of you.”

Niall doesn’t say anything. Harry can hear him on the other end of the line doing something with his mouth. It sounds like he’s licking his fingers.

“Are you eating? What the hell is that noise?”

“I’m having a kebab.”

“Ugh. You couldn’t wait? You’re chewing in my ear.”

“I was hungry. It’s the price you pay for keeping me around and making everything better.”

“Fine just…chew quietly or something. Anyway, I can’t get up there until after the holiday.”

“Yeah, duh. I’ve got a family too, you know.”

Harry drops his hand to his lap and sighs.

“God, of course you do. Jesus, it’s the week of Christmas and I’ve got you running around like an errand boy.”

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m fine. The kebabs are good. And Zain’s a cool guy…he’s like…shy, you know? But we really hit it off. It was weird. And not weird. Just cool.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know. Look, have you got work off? I can arrange to pop you over to Mullingar from there and we can meet back after Boxing Day.”

“Yeah I’ve got it off. It’s taken care of. And Zain’s working through the holiday anyway. Retail, you know?”

“Yeah…not really. Have a good time, ok? Say hi—errr, I guess not that. Just have a good time with your family.”

“Roger.”

“Love ya, Ni.”

There’s a quiet pause.

“Huh.”

Harry presses a hand to his forehead and squeezes his temples.

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m trying not to do that.”

“It’s cool. You love me. That’s nice, you know? And I love you too, right? I’ve just got to catch up. I’ll see you when you get here, ok?”

“Yeah.”

Nick comes out of the bathroom as he’s hanging up. He leans against the door and fusses with his collar and looks over at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“Did you just tell that boy you love him?”

Harry shrugs limply.

“I got…confused.”

Nick sits on the bed and puts an arm around him.

“Are you two—over there, where things are different—are you—”

Harry shakes his head and stands.

“No. No he’s just like…my best mate, you know? Apart from you, I mean.”

Nick nods, but he’s giving Harry a look. It’s weird and unreadable and a little too tender, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Right. Got it. Let’s go drink too much and act like idiots and try our best not to ruin each other’s shirts.”

 

* * *

 

 

The holidays are a blur. Harry ducks out after his Christmas eve performance and heads for Holmes Chapel to spend the night with his family. Everything at home is much the same, save for his mother not incessantly asking after the lads. She sits him down and makes him update her on what Nick’s been up to, then that’s it. No poking at him about Louis and Eleanor’s inevitable engagement, no gushing over Zayn’s little sisters. She listens as he gives her an overview of what he’s been up to and he finds himself telling her about Niall, about reconnecting with lads from the X-Factor days, and her casual “that sounds lovely, dear” when he explains who they are is possibly the most surreal thing he’s been faced with since he woke up here in this altered state. Their names mean nothing to her, and it feels like a punch in the gut. After dinner, they all sit around the telly and watch movies, just the way they do every year. They do the whole Christmas cracker thing and Harry sings carols until Gemma chucks a pillow at his head and tells him to shut his face.

His phone buzzes while he’s lying on the floor in front of the TV, half asleep. It’s Niall. He’s sent a photo of Theo, whose face is covered in something green. He’s got a paper crown on his head.

_A right mess over here. Thanks for delivering me. How’s yours ?_

He holds the phone over his face and types out a response.

_My sister’s sick of me already, so the usual. Merry xmas._

_Merry Christmas !!!_

Niall follows his last text up with a string of emojis. There’s a Christmas tree, a little Santa face, a dancing man, fireworks, something that looks inexplicably like a tuna. Harry opens a new message and types.

_Happy birthday, bro. Hope you’re having a good one. xx Harry_

He stares at the text in the little box, but he doesn’t hit send. He wonders if it’s too weird. Too familiar. He feels doubt creeping up on him, something close to anxiety. He wants to quash it. He doesn’t want to feel that. Not anymore, but he backs out of his message app anyway. Rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, Harold.” He mutters it into the carpet, quietly, but his sister must’ve heard something because she makes a kind of “eh?” noise from the couch. He doesn’t look up.

“Nothing.”

He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at his phone, then makes a conscious effort to isolate his anxiety. To fold it up like a piece of scrap paper or a gum wrapper. He doesn’t need it here. In this place, Louis is just an old friend. Someone he’s reconnecting with. He’s just Louis.

In this place, Harry can really do whatever the fuck he wants.

Harry opens his twitter app and composes a new tweet.

_Crackers and crowns and movies of questionable quality. Merry xmas everyone._

He fires it off. Management will like it. It’s barely even cryptic. He clicks on the little window again. He holds his anxiety in his hand and tucks it away. Shoves it into deep storage with all the other bits of himself he’s tried to let go of. It feels good. A little like he’s cutting a tether and floating away into the unknown.

_Happy birthday to my friend @louistomlinson…you’ve always had it._

He hits send and shuts off his phone for the night.

* * *

 

In the morning they eat breakfast together and he lets his mum dote on him. She and Robin make pointed comments about how he and Gemma don’t visit enough and Harry cracks jokes and promises to stop in more often. It’s all very familiar and comfortable and mundane. Like real life. Like he’s just Harry and not something more. Not an international brand. Not a commodity to be traded on. He must need this more, here in this place. Back home, the lads keep him centered. Help him to feel like himself, even in the eye of the media storm. Here, his family is it. They’re all the family he’s got.

After breakfast he takes a walk in the fields. He presses his hands to the usual bits and pieces of his old life. A brick wall. The trunk of a tree. He dips his fingers in the stream and then shakes them off and shoves them up in his armpits to keep them warm. When that’s done, he heads back to the house and makes some calls. One to the states, one to management, and then one to Nick, to wish him a merry Christmas and thank him for being infinitely patient and kind.

He calls Niall then, and Niall’s been in touch with Zain. They’ve made plans to get together the next evening, when Zain’s finished at the shop. Niall says something about cooking for the three of them, which sounds ambitious, but Harry just decides to roll with it. That’s generally the best strategy when it comes to Niall. When it comes to any and all versions of Niall.

On Boxing Day, he kisses his family goodbye and takes one of the cars from the garage. He likes driving, when he can. It gives him time to think. It feels normal, like he’s just a person in a sea of people moving from one place to the next. He stops off in town and says hello at the bakery. They’re delighted to see him and they give him a box of pastries to take away. He tries to pay them, as always, and as always they won’t take his money. He makes one more stop, at a shipping office on the North end of town, then gets on the road, driving up the M62 with the heater on high, listening to Nick’s show from the morning and eating a pear tart.

“I know the holidays can be a bit stressful for the best of us. Might be making you feel a bit mental. A bit outside yourself and whatnot. So here’s a song for those of us who’re feeling a bit like they’re living in the Twilight Zone. Don’t worry, loves. It’s nearly over.”

 _It’s nearly over_.

 _Is it?_ he wonders. He looks down and sees that he’s got a lap full of crumbs. He brushes them off and onto his feet and tries to focus on the driving, because the thought of this being temporary, the idea that it might be over soon, is proving to be…difficult. It should be simple. He should feel…hopeful maybe? Homesick? But he’s not feeling any of that really. Because this _is_ home. It’s not all that different. Everyone’s still here, they’re just scattered. He thinks of Louis and how at ease with himself he seemed the other day, then he wonders what Zayn is like here in this place, where he’s still Zain. Wonders if he’s happy. If he spends time with his sisters and his mum. If he allows himself to be vulnerable. How he fills his days. If he’s something more like himself.

He drops the tart back into the box and turns up the stereo, letting the music drown out his thoughts.

_...and you may ask yourself, where does that highway go to...And you may ask yourself, am I right or am I wrong..._

 

* * *

 

 

He meets Niall at the hotel in Shipley. It’s a nice place, in an old stone house overlooking the river. The suite is large and expensive and Niall looks a little shell-shocked when Harry arrives. He’s sitting on the couch stiffly and holding his snapback in his hands, fiddling with the clasp, like he’s afraid to touch anything else in the room. When Harry steps through the door, Niall jumps up to help the bellhop with his bags, like he’s been desperate for something to do.

“Jesus. This place is nice. Like…REALLY nice.”

Harry shrugs and drops onto the couch.

“Yeah, I always feel a little weird, dropping cash on a place like this. It all seems so excessive. But the fancier the hotel, the better they are at dealing. With me.”

Niall nods, his face reflecting dawning understanding.

“It must be weird, that. Like…causing a stir wherever you go. Turning everyone on their heads when you walk into a place.”

Harry sits on the couch and pushes his bottom lip out, thinking of what Niall’s said. He’s dug right down to the root of it, really. Harry’s always wanted to put people at ease. To be a positive presence in peoples’ lives. But that’s difficult when his just existing in a space causes upheaval. He thinks of the hotel manager, whose eyes went as wide as saucers when Harry arrived, who’s most likely running around the hotel like a chicken with his head cut off. Harry’s caused that. Just by choosing to come here. It’s…a lot to accept.

“Yeah, it’s not ideal. But look!”

He jumps up and walks back to the pile of bags the bellhop left next to the door. Picks up the black leather case and brings it back to Niall. Niall laughs and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you learning guitar? Do you need some pointers? I can teach ya, but I’m not cheap.”

Harry shoves the case at him, shaking his head.

“No, you idiot. Merry Christmas.”

“What?”

“Merry…Christmas.”

Niall isn’t taking the case; he’s just standing there with his mouth slightly agape.

“What’ve you…I haven’t got _you_ anything! You didn’t warn me!”

Harry laughs and kneels down, fiddling with the latches on the case.

“Shut up. You’re fine. I just wanted to do something for you. You’ve been amazing, you know?”

“You didn’t have to…I…” He trails off, and when Harry looks up, he’s just shaking his head, so Harry reaches out and tugs at his hand gently, pulling him down to the floor.

“Look. Here.”

He pops the case open and Niall kneels down beside him.

“Fuck me. Harry, this is…”

“You like it, right?”

“Harry. Holy fuck. I can’t take this.”

“You have to take it. It’s the same one I bought you bef—I mean…” Harry shakes his head. “I just want you to have it. It’s yours.”

Niall is looking at him. Harry can feel it, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his eyes on the Gibson in the case.

“You mean you bought this for the other me.”

Harry nods.

“Yeah. You just…you’re such a nerd about that stuff. And when I saw it I knew you would love it. I made some calls and it was still…” he wrinkles his nose. Drops his head. “Sorry. Sorry I’m so weird. I’m sorry that this is all so overwhelming and I’m sorry I’m not making it easier.”

Niall hugs him then, and it’s awkward, because they’re kneeling side-by-side on the floor, but they try to make it work. Harry laughs a little bit, and feels a little bit like crying, and Niall kisses him loudly on the top of his head.

“You’re brilliant.”

“I’m terrible. I’ve ruined your life.”

“No. No you haven’t. You’ve made it better.” Niall lets him go and turns back to the guitar. He cradles the neck gingerly in one hand and lifts it out of the case, holding it like a precious treasure. To be fair, it might technically qualify, as much as any other $20,000 guitar would. He plucks experimentally at a couple strings and smiles, rocking back onto his heels.

“There’s no way I can actually _use_ this, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He plays a few chords, and then picks out a melody, and it sounds familiar, but Harry can’t quite place it. He watches Niall, and he thinks Niall looks good this way. He’s wearing a greenish plaid button-up and well-loved jeans and his dark hair sets off his eyes like crazy, in a way the blonde never did. The guitar looks right on him, like it was always meant to be his.

“I’m starting to get it now.”

“Get what?”

He’s not looking at Harry. He’s smiling down at the strings as he plays.

“How much I must love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

They arrive at Zain’s place at half past 6, and Niall is freaked out for a minute, like maybe they got the address wrong, because it doesn’t look like a place where a person could live. It makes sense to Harry, though. Of course Zain lives here. It’s all steel doors and brick walls and faded graffiti. He supposes it’s some kind of live/work building. Something semi-industrial that’s been converted to an artist’s space.

They find the right door (a proper door, not one of the big roll-up ones) and Niall knocks sharply. He still looks a little overwhelmed. A little out of his element. Harry looks down at him and cuffs his ear lightly, and that gets a smile out of him. There’s the sound of a lock sliding, then the door opens and Zayn—or Zain, rather—is standing there, smiling tightly. His hair is soft and unstyled, the way a normal person’s hair looks. It looks messy, like he’s been running his hand through it a lot. He’s got a couple day’s worth of stubble and his shoulders are tense under his tee shirt. He looks as nervous as Niall, and Harry wants to grab them both and shake them. Snap them out of it.

Niall raises a hand.

“Hey! We made it.”

Zain smiles and swings the door wide. He glances at Harry in a quick, awkward sort of way, then turns his full attention to Niall, like he’s trying his best to not be weird, but he’s clearly incredibly uncomfortable. It breaks Harry’s heart a little, to see him that way.

“Come on in. Sorry about the mess. It’s terrible, I’ve just not had any time with the holidays.”

They step inside, and it’s the opposite of terrible. It’s an art studio of some sort, but it looks like whatever’s made in here falls less on the dainty watercolors side of the art spectrum and more on the industrial fabrication end. There’s clamping tables and some sort of kiln in the corner and bits of bent metal strewn around in piles. It’s a mess, but only as much as any well-used shop would be. Niall’s eyes look like they’re about to fall out of his head.

“You _live_ here?”

Zain laughs softly and tucks a bit of hair behind his ear. It’s a nervous tic. Harry would recognize it anywhere. 

“Well not _here_ here. There’s an apartment in the back there. It’s like a half and half sort of thing.”

“Sick. What do you even make in here?”

“Ha… _I_ don’t make a whole lot. Do some big painting kind of stuff when the mood takes me. All this is Declan’s, though. He’s this older guy. Makes like metal sculptures and does forging stuff. I help him out and he’s letting me rent out the back for cheap, like.”

Niall shakes his head slowly.

“That’s fucking cool, mate. Like really proper cool.”

They just stand there for a minute, and nobody says anything. Niall is clearly caught up in some sort of industrial art daydream, so Harry clears his throat lightly, just to move things along.

“Oh shit! God, I’m the worst. Zain, this is Harry. Harry, this is Zain.”

They shake hands. Zain is still having some trouble looking Harry in the eye, but he seems to be loosening up slowly. Talking with Niall seemed to make him visibly less tense. Harry’s not surprised. It’s always been that way with the two of them.

“It’s great to meet you. Niall really talked you up.”

Zain makes a funny face and glances over at Niall, who laughs and makes a “who me?” gesture with his hands.

“Yeah, same. He says you guys are pretty good mates. That’s uh…it…” he trails off. “God. I’m sorry, this is just like _too_ weird, you know? It’s freaking me out that you’re standing here right now? I’m gonna need to like…acclimate.”

Harry nods and raises his palms.

“That’s so totally cool. I’m used to it, honestly. Feel like a bloody alien or like…the Loch Ness monster half the time.”

It’s not that funny, but Niall and Zain both laugh and it seems to break the ice a little, this mutual understanding that everything is really really weird. Niall holds up the bag of groceries they picked up on the way over and raises one eyebrow.

“Take me to your kitchen, mate.”

“Yeah. It’s just back here.”

Zain angles his head toward the back of the studio and Niall starts walking.

“I hope you like fajitas and lager, lads, because that’s what you’re getting.”

Harry smiles over at Zain and sees him smile back, uncertain.

“It’ll get less weird, I promise.”

“Yeah. It’s just…overwhelming.”

“I mean _Niall_ won’t get less weird. But the whole famous person thing. We’ll drink a beer and I’ll spill fajitas down my shirt and you lot will start taking the piss. I can see it all so clearly already.”

Zain laughs and it sounds a little like a giggle, like something more familiar. Like Zayn.

“What are you, psychic or something?”

“Nah…” They get to the back of the studio and join Niall in the apartment. “I’m just a really messy eater.”

 

* * *

 

 

The kitchen is tiny and spare and not really separated from the rest of the studio, but it’s organized, if not well stocked. Niall makes do. Harry warned him that he might not find much in the way of staples in Zain’s kitchen and it appears that much hasn’t changed. There’s a cupboard full of instant noodles and breakfast cereals and the icebox seems to be mostly single serving home-cooked meals and containers full of samosas, which Harry reckons Trish is responsible for. She must love it, having Zain so close to home. Not halfway across the world nearly all the time.

The rest of the apartment is tidy and comfortable. There are a few large canvases stacked up against one wall, covered in splashes of color. They look lovely. The colors are vibrant and lines are balanced and Harry thinks he might like to buy one. That he might like to buy one even if it wasn’t a thing Zain had made.

There’s one window, large and south facing, and Harry expects it lets a good bit of light in, even in the dead of winter. Under the window, there’s a bookshelf, crammed full of novels and comic books and some coffee table books on modern art. Zain helps Niall find things in the kitchen and then gets drafted for vegetable slicing duty, which Harry thinks may be Niall’s attempt to distract him and help him feel more at ease.

“Can I put on some music?”

Zain looks up from the pile of peppers in front of him and nods.

“Yeah. My iPod’s on the stereo there. It’s all plugged in.”

Niall plucks a slice of pepper off the cutting board and pops it in his mouth.

“Just don’t put on any Harry Styles, please. Can’t stand that twat.”

Harry picks up the iPod and looks pointedly over his shoulder at Niall.

“Brave words from someone with a Michael Buble obsession.”

“Hey!”

Harry laughs and scrolls through the iPod, looking for something they can all agree on. He hears a chorus of sizzles and pops from the kitchen and then Zain’s voice.

“You like Michael Buble?”

“He’s got a good voice, ok? Let me live. Christ.”

“Not judgin, mate. It’s cool.”

“Thank you. I like you.”

The apartment is starting to smell amazing and Harry realizes suddenly how hungry he is. All he’s really eaten today are pastries. He settles on Usher, since he knows that’s what Zayn listens to when he feels homesick. Harry just wants to make this all feel normal. To make Zain feel at home with the whole situation. He puts it on shuffle and drops the iPod back on top of the stereo.

When he turns around, Zain is watching him with his eyebrows raised.

“Good choice, mate.”

Harry smiles.

“Cool. I did good then?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t’ve pegged you as an Usher fan, honestly.”

Harry presses a hand to his heart in mock-offense.

“I’ll have you know I listen to all sorts of music. Just not Michael Buble.”

Niall throws a stack of tortillas in the oven to warm and stands up. He cocks his head, listening to the music, then narrows his eyes at Harry.

“Are you trying to seduce us or something?”

Harry tries to make his face as somber as possible.

“Yes, Niall.”

Zain giggles again, and Niall nods. He walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer.

“I’ll start drinking now, then.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s so weird that you’re here, you know?”

Niall grunts in assent. He’s on his back on the floor, his hands holding his stomach.

“Not like…not because you’re Harry Styles or whatever.”

Niall rolls over.

“I’m not Harry Styles.”

Zain laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah…I mean…it’s just weird. Niall told you I almost went out for X-Factor, yeah? The same series as you lot.”

Harry nods. He’s let his head drop back onto the back of the sofa and he thinks he might be too full to lift it, so he just hums.

“I had the song picked out and everything. I was gonna sing Mario. Let Me Love You. Ha.”

“I bet it would’ve been brilliant. I heard you singing earlier when Niall was making dinner. You’ve got a killer voice.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t go, did I? Slept in like a right knob.”

Harry was sort of wondering when they would talk about it. He’d nearly brought it up himself a couple times during dinner but let it lie. Let the conversation progress naturally. They’d talked about Zain’s painting, his school, his family. He’d invited Zain to ask him whatever he wanted about his weird life, and Niall had told some hilarious stories about regulars at his pub. It was good. Comfortable. Harry spilled food all over his crotch five minutes into the meal and Zain and Niall had laughed hysterically, so that was a good ice breaker. After dinner, Zain had rolled a joint in an apologetic sort of way, and Niall shared it with him, which surprised Harry a little, but it seemed to loosen them both up considerably. They’d danced to That’s What It’s Made For in an awkward and precious sort of way that made Harry’s heart hurt a little, it was so close to the Niall and Zayn that he knew. The lads he’d grown up with. And now Zain’s broaching the subject of the X-Factor and he sounds hesitant. Nervous, maybe. Like it’s something he’s been keeping to himself for a long time.

“Honestly, it really messed me up for a long time. That I didn’t go, you know? It’s not like I _couldn’t_ wake up. I think it was more like a fear thing. Like I was scared to fail or something. Better to not try at all sort of thing.”

“Nah…” Niall is shaking his head, rolling it back and forth on the floor. “Nah you’ve always got to at least try. You’ve got to.”

“Yeah. I get that _now_. Or like…I learned that. I watched the whole thing, you know. I watched you smash it, Harry, week after week, and I thought like ‘that could’ve been me.’”

“It could’ve been. You would’ve been brilliant. You’ve got a better voice that me…or anyone that series really. You would’ve killed it.”

“I don’t know though. You’re like a proper rock star. Like born for it. Anyone could see it, even then when you were just like a _baby_ , you know? I’m not that. I’ve never been that, I couldn’t be famous. I can’t dance. Can barely even talk to people.”

“But you learn all that, don’t you? You adjust.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I mean…it never made sense really, because there are so many reasons why it couldn’t be me. Why it shouldn’t have been. Just the thought of leaving here…of leaving my sisters and my mum behind…but I just like…couldn’t let go of this feeling, you know? Like not auditioning that day was the worst mistake of my life. Like I’d just…buggered it all up.”

No one says anything for a moment, and the song on the stereo fades out. The room goes quiet, and it feels a bit like they’re on the cusp of something. Like there’s more Zain wants to say.

“If I show you something, will you promise not to think I’m mental?”

“Yes.” They say it in unison, and it’s so creepy that Harry cringes. He doesn’t want to scare Zain away. Doesn’t want him to second-guess whatever he’s about to let them in on. But he doesn’t balk. He gets up and walks to the shelf and crouches down, then pulls out a sketchbook. He brings it back to the couch and sets it on the coffee table.

“I’ve got this idea for a comic. A graphic novel, like.”

He opens book and presses it flat so they can see. It’s filled with rough sketches and hand-drawn panels. The outline of a long story. Niall sits upright and crawls over to the table to have a look.

“Siiiick. You made this?”

Zain shrugs.

“Yeah. It’s just like…a rough idea. I can’t really draw well enough to do I myself. I was thinking I could do the coloring…but find a proper artist to do the line work or whatever. But it’s like…my idea of how it would’ve been different. It’s kind of a sci-fi sort of thing. Like there’s this guy, and he wakes up one day in another universe, where like…he made this one little choice and everything changed.”

He sits back on the couch.

“I just…couldn’t get this idea out of my head that things were meant to be different. Like I’d screwed everything up. That maybe somewhere out there there was this other me…A Zain who got up that day and stood on that stage and just like…pushed through the fear…”

Harry looks over at Niall, and his eyes are wide. He looks Harry in the eye and raises one eyebrow.

Harry looks down at the book. He taps at a panel with one finger.

“Is that you, then?”

Zain laughs.

“Something like…I dunno. When it happened—or didn’t happen, I mean. I was having a really hard time. I didn’t want to go to school. Wasn’t drawing or anything. Didn’t want to sing. My dad was like…proper worried about me. He sat me down one day and he said some stuff that really stuck with me. Like…I don’t think I’ve ever been able to shake it. There’s this idea in Islam, right? It’s called ‘Qadar’.”

“Godard? Like the French movie guy?”

Zain laughs and Niall shrugs apologetically.

“Nah. Like Q-A-D-A-R. Qadar. It’s like fate, kind of. Like divine destiny.”

Niall makes an “oh” shape with his mouth but doesn’t say anything more. He just listens.

“It’s like…your destiny is written. Like the place you’re meant to be, where you end up, is set. What you decide on is how you _get_ there. So my dad sat me down and he said ‘Zain, sometimes it feels like life has taken a wrong turn.’ He said it can feel like you’ve made a mistake and ruined everything, but…that’s not how it works, right? Because there’s a place you’re meant to be. And you might take a detour or two, and sometimes it might feel like you’ve lost the plot entirely, but if you pull back and look at the big picture, you’ll see that everything was only ever moving in a single direction. Like a river, taking you where you were always gonna go. I don’t know if I’m doing a good job of explaining this, but it’s like…you were always going to get there? You just…have to have faith I guess. Like just try to be the best person you can be, and make the best decisions, and have faith that you’ll eventually arrive where you’re meant to be.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He looks down at the sketchbook and he can see it now, what’s in front of him. Five figures. Five of them together. Niall sees it too. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Listen, this has been really nice. I mean…you lads are cool and I like hanging out with you and the fajitas were really good but like…I need to ask you something, ok? And I just need you to be honest with me because this is all a little weird and like…unbelievable.”

Harry nods, and Niall says “Yeah, of course” but Zain doesn’t look at them. He’s looking down at the sketchbook on the table and he’s got his hands pressed together between his knees.

“Why are you here? Honestly.”

They look at each other then, and Harry can’t think of where to start. He doesn’t know how to explain in a way that doesn’t sound like he’s taking the piss, or like he’s gone mad. In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything, because Niall shuts the sketchbook and sits back on his heels and sums it up with one word.

“Qadar.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We should get everyone up here.”

Niall is sprawled out on the bed in Harry’s suite, facedown on the blanket. Harry tugs one boot off, then the other, and sits down next to him on the mattress.

“Here like _here_? Bradford?”

Niall rolls over so he can look Harry in the eye.

“Yeah here like Bradford. Why wait? It makes sense, right? Liam’s in Wolverhampton, just across the way. I expect Louis is in Yorkshire with family. Let’s see if Zain’s down to host and just like…make it happen.”

Harry falls back on the bed. He feels tired. Wrung out. But exhilarated. They talked with Zain for another couple hours, filling him in on their journey. He had trouble with it, understandably. Anyone would have trouble with it, really. But he was accepting, and willing to meet the other lads. Willing to see it through.

“Yeah…yeah alright. I’ll call Louis in the morning and you can work on Liam.”

“Brill.”

Niall’s voice is breathy and quiet. Harry rolls his head to look at him and sees that his eyes are closed. His mouth is open just a crack and his face is soft. He’s falling asleep.

“Don’t you have to work this weekend?”

Niall just makes a small noise, that might be a “nah” or a “it’s cool” or a “yes”.

“Ni?”

He doesn’t answer. Harry props himself up on one elbow and watches him for a moment. He thinks about waking him up. Kicking him out and back to his own bed. But he doesn’t. Instead he slips off the bed and works at Niall’s shoelaces, trying not to wake him. He slips Niall’s supras off and lays them at the foot of the bed. He thinks that Niall won’t be comfortable, sleeping in his clothes like this, but that’s ok. Harry will leave his clothes on too and they’ll be the same. They can just fall asleep like this and deal with all the other stuff in the morning. He crawls back onto the bed and lies on his side, curled around but not quite touching Niall, closes his eyes and lets the sound of Niall’s breathing pull him under.

 

* * *

 

 

Niall is right, in the end. Louis is spending the holidays in Yorkshire and agrees to pop down for a get-together on Sunday evening. He sounds eager to see them again, and to reconnect with Liam. Zain agrees to host, and they decide to keep it simple. Just beers and samosa and whatever Zain’s got in his fridge. He says he’s got a small army’s worth of food to eat his way through, so they’ll just heat up some of Trish’s home cooking and spend the evening catching up.

Niall gets in touch with Liam, and Harry leaves the room for that part. He doesn’t want to hear what Niall says. Doesn’t want to hear them speaking about him like he’s some kind of charity case who needs to be humored. He’s got to believe they won’t have to keep the charade up for long. That it’ll all make sense to Liam once they’re together. That he’ll see this is something more than a simple delusion.

Once the calls are made and the plan is set, they’ve got a day and a half to kill, and Niall proposes they go golfing. Harry’s happy to oblige. Honestly he hadn’t been golfing with Niall in over a year, back where they’re a band, and it’s nice. It’s nice to be together like that again. He hates to admit it, but in some ways this place, this version of his life, feels better. Like the better version of reality. Here, he and Niall are together and they’re just like…mates. Not coworkers. Not two cogs in the same machine. Just two lads who like to be together. In a way, their connection is just as solid here as it ever was back home. But it’s more pure. Removed from its context, whatever he has with Niall seems even more precious. He can see its edges and he understands how solid it is. How safe it feels.

Which is absurd, obviously. He’s only known this Niall for a week. But it’s not that simple. That isn’t the truth. He’s got to believe there’s something more happening here.

In the evening, they return to the hotel and order food up to their room and sit on the floor by the couch. Niall plays his acoustic guitar and they sing Eagles songs and it feels right, being together this way. Their voices compliment each other, the way they’re meant to, and Niall’s just as good as he ever was with the guitar. Maybe even better. He’s got to be, Harry’s realizes. Studio work demands a certain amount of precision. Harry wonders suddenly if all of this running around will be a setback for him. If Niall’s sudden absence will affect his reputation. It’s something he should have considered a week ago, honestly, but he’s been riding a high. Harry’s been so hyper-focused on _fixing_ things, on correcting perceived imbalances; he may have neglected to consider that this world has its own order. That maybe he’s shaken Niall’s life up to the point of inflicting damage.

“Are you going to be alright?”

Niall looks up from the guitar and takes a swig of his beer.

“Huh?”

“Like…you’ve not gone to work all week. At the pub or…“

Niall looks down again and sets his beer on the carpet. He picks a few notes and tilts his head.

“I uh…”

Harry finds himself really considering it then, Niall’s life. His work. The fact that tour starts in a matter of weeks and Harry will be halfway across the world for months at a time. He thinks of Niall going back to London. Standing behind the bar and pulling pints. It feels wrong, somehow. Like after everything, there’s no way they can just…go back to the way things were. He’s found Niall, and now he gets to keep Niall, right? Niall is the one he gets to keep. So he opens his mouth and he hears himself say “you should come with me” just as Niall looks up sheepishly and says “I quit, actually” and then they both stop short.

“I should _what?”_

“You _quit_? When?”

“Nuh-uh. Back up. Did you just ask me to come on _tour_ with you?”

Harry looks down at his lap and rubs at his jawline nervously.

“Yeah. I think…I mean, you’ve got that nice guitar now, you should like…play it. And I like having you around, so I mean…it’s common sense, right? Isn’t it? When did you quit your job?”

Niall shrugs.

“I mean…I’ve not _quit_ quit. I just told them I had to like…see this thing through. That I might not be back.”

They sit quietly for a moment. 

“You won’t, then, right? You won’t be back.”

Niall sets his jaw and looks down at the guitar strings. He looks like he’s set on a course, but he knows it’s a risky one. That it’ll change everything.

“No…I won’t.” He looks relieved suddenly, like all he really needed was to say it. To acknowledge in words that he isn’t going back to his old life. That he’s switching directions entirely. He looks back up at Harry. “What about Zain?”

“What about Zain?”

“I mean…Louis’s got his job. Liam’s just…Liam. He’s got a good life, you know? I doubt he’d want to give it up. But Zain maybe. Maybe he’d want to come with. I mean, if there’s a space for him.”

“There’s always a space for him. There’s space for all of you. Honestly, all I’ve got here are gaping you-shaped holes. So yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll ask him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Zain is late to his own party, which is very classically Zayn, so Harry can’t even be bothered by it. He gets there before Louis, anyway, and Liam’s not expected until a little later, so it all works out just fine. Niall and Harry loiter in the doorway together for about 15 minutes, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm, before he appears, toting a shopping bag and wearing a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. Sorry, I took a nap and like…”

“It’s cool, you’re here now.”

“Just lost track of time. Sorry.”

He edges past them and opens the door, ushering them inside. Niall sets his guitar case near the couch. It’s his old one, not the electric Harry bought him. He’d stashed that under the bed back at the hotel and adjusted its position twice before they’d left, his anxiety palpable. Harry’d finally pushed him bodily out the door, promising to buy him a new one if anything happened. Zain heads to the fridge and starts stocking it with beer out of the shopping bag, talking over his shoulder as he works.

“Honestly I barely slept last night. Isn’t that crazy? I mean that’s like my _superpower_. Just sleeping. My mind was just racing, like. Wondering how it was gonna be, having everyone together. It’s…a lot to think about, you know? But it’s been better today. Like I’m mostly just excited. Like excited to see how it goes? I never had brothers, you know. I’ve got all these sisters and it’s just…It’ll be cool. Just seeing what happens.”

He finishes with the beer and stands up as Niall reaches out, waggling his fingers.

“Gimme one of them?” Zain opens him a beer and passes it over. “No biggie, right? Just a buncha lads really. Lads being lads doin lad stuff. And I’ve got loads of practice being a younger brother, so careful what you wish for and all that.” He reaches out and cuffs Zain in the side of the head lightly and Zain laughs, then feigns going for Niall’s gut. Niall bats his hand away, then reaches out quick as anything and pokes Zain twice in the chest and once square in his middle, laughing sharply. Zain doubles over and they both crack up, then Zain returns the favor, poking at Niall in turn. Harry just stands there, dumbfounded.

“This is so weird.”

They look over at him, suddenly self-conscious.

“What?” Niall sounds defensive, but in a light-hearted sort of way. Like none of this is weird. Like none of it is really freaking him out anymore. It reminds Harry of the stages of grief or whatever. Niall’s reached acceptance. He’s bought his ticket on the ride.

“Nothing. You’re just…You’re just so you.”

Zain smiles over at Niall and Niall’s eyes go wide.

“Did you hear that, Zain? We’re us!”

Zain narrows his eyes and nods once, approvingly.

“Sick. Good to know.” He turns back to the fridge and grabs out a stack of containers. “Here, help me heat this stuff up, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

They’ve just got everything arranged in the oven and the music going where there’s a buzz and Harry runs to the front door, leaving Zain to clean up the counter and Niall to continue eating samosas at the table and grunting appreciatively.

Louis is stamping his feet when Harry opens the door, and Harry sees that it’s started to snow outside, which feels very festive and magical, like he’s the protagonist in the climactic scene of some It’s A Wonderful Life-style Christmas morality play.

“Hi!” Louis smiles and moves in for a hug, and it’s as unselfconscious and warm as it was that day at the pub. Harry exhales heavily and rests his chin on Louis’s shoulder for a moment, then lets him go.

“Where the hell have you brought me, Harry? Is this some kind of kidnap and murder scenario?”

He’s looking around the shop, registering the jagged metal shapes looming in the dim light. Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no it’s just this part that’s weird. Zain is renting the studio in the back. He’s an artist sort of person. You’ll like him.”

“Is that his graffiti and stuff outside? It’s wicked.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re just back this way, I’ll introduce you.”

When they come back in, someone’s changed the music and Zain’s sitting at the kitchen table, laughing. His eyes are all scrunched up and he’s making a noise that’s vaguely reminiscent of a donkey and it’s comforting and familiar. Zayn laughs that way, when he’s happy. Niall is up and dancing, snapping his fingers and mouthing along with the music, which Harry recognizes now. It’s Michael Buble. He wrinkles his nose and crosses his arms.

“Niall, NO.”

Niall turns his way without missing a beat and keeps singing, dancing toward them and waggling his eyebrows.

“It’s Sinatra, Harry! Dance with me!”

“It’s Michael Buble, Niall. Spare me.”

Louis looks back and forth from Harry to Niall, like he’s trying to pick a side, then he just throws up his arms and heads over to the kitchen table. He holds out his hand.

“Hi. Louis.”

Zayn sits up and tries to stifle his laughter, very deliberately avoiding Niall’s gaze. He shakes Louis’s hand.

“Zain. Malik. Uh…nice to meet you. I’ve seen you on the…” He gestures toward the living room, in the general direction of the TV. Louis glances over and nods. He smiles cheekily.

“Yeah I do mess about a bit on ther—WHOA.”

Zain frowns. He looks like he’s about to spring out of the chair, like he wants to fix whatever’s gone wrong.

“What?”

“Is that the complete series?” Louis is wandering over toward the bookshelf on the other end of the room. Zain stands and trails him, his face lighting up.

“Yeah, ’91 to 2012. I work at a book shop kind of place so I get good deals, you know?”

“Fucking cool, man. Morrison’s run is _sick_.”

“Yeah.”

Louis kneels down in front of the shelf and tugs a trade paperback out. Harry can see the Marvel Imprint. Something about X-Men. Of course. That’s that then.

Louis glances up from the book and sees a small glass pipe resting on the shelf in front of him. He raises an eyebrow and looks up at Zain, smiling.

“I think I like you very much already, Zain Malik.”

Harry turns back to Niall, who’s still shuffling around the room, swaying his hips and swinging his arms in the air.  Harry sees now that he’s holding a samosa in one hand, waving it around like a conductor’s baton.

“Niall, I swear to god I will pay you a thousand pounds to shut this off.”

Niall stops dancing quick as anything and trots over to the stereo.

“Deal!”

 

* * *

 

By the time Liam arrives, Louis and Zain are pleasantly stoned and have a pile of comics out on the table. Niall’s brought a plate full of samosas over to share and is allowing them to take him on a guided tour of the Marvel universe. It’s half education and half an excuse for them to nerd out at each other, but Niall doesn’t seem to mind. Harry looks on, half listening, plucking at the guitar and accepting the occasional tip or correction from Niall, who spends most of the time talking through a mouthful of food.

“Gonna need to meet yer, mom, Zainer. This stuff is delicious. I need recipes. Harry, I can cook these for us on tour.”

“We’ve got like…a chef, Niall. We’re not left to just fend for ourselves. But yeah. You can cook these for me.”

Zain laughs, then stops abruptly. He squints over at Harry.

“Wait what? You’re going on tour? Like together?”

Niall claps a hand over his mouth and looks at Harry, his eyes wide, but Harry just shrugs.

“Yeah I figured…Niall’s got a guitar…I’ve got a band. Just makes sense, right?”

Zain nods, but he looks a little shell-shocked.

“Yeah. Yeah that makes sense.”

He looks like he’s about to say something more, but just then the door buzzer goes off again and Niall leaps up.

“That’ll be Liam! The final ingredient!”

Louis screws up his face a little.

“Ingredient? I knew this was a creepy murder thing. You’re going to kill us and eat us aren’t you?”

Harry plucks at the guitar and smiles sweetly.

“First we’re going to make you fight to the death, like a hunger games sort of thing.”

Zain shakes his head, shutting the issue of Spider-Man on the table in front of him.

“Ugh. God. I’d be rubbish at that. And I couldn’t kill Niall, he’s too cute.”

Louis nods slowly, considering.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s far too precious. We should probably just let him kill us, you know? It seems like the right thing to do.”

Niall comes back with Liam in tow. Liam’s cheeks are red from the cold and he’s tugging gloves off his hands. He looks uncertain, but warm. Not unfriendly. He waves and smiles at them as Niall kneels back down by the coffee table and pushes a plate of food in his direction.

“Hi. Um…I’m Liam—”

“Liam Payne! Long time no see, lad.” Louis jumps up and pulls Liam into a hug, who looks even more bewildered for a moment, then softens and hugs him back. Louis lets him go and gestures to the couch, encouraging him to sit.

“Yeah,” He tugs his coat off and sort of hovers, looking around for a place to stash it, until Zain finally catches on and jumps up.

“I’ll take that,” he says, “Sorry, not used to being a proper host.” He takes the coat off Liam’s hands and sort of swivels back and forth for a moment, starts walking, stops, changes direction, then tosses the coat on a chair. He turns back to Liam and extends his hand.

“I’m Zain.”

“Nice to…meet…Say, have we like…”

Zain is peering at Liam’s face, and suddenly it’s like something dawned on him. He’s connecting the dots somewhere in his head. He drops Liam’s hand and opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. Tilts his head.

“This is too weird.”

“We have then. I knew it.”

“I should’ve recognized you…”

Niall is looking between the two of them, confused.

“What’s going on? Do you know each other?”

Liam shakes his head.

“No, no not properly. It was just…right after we were kicked off X-Factor, when I got back into running again. I had a meet here in Bradford. It’d been a while and was like…rusty. ”

“We met at the McDonalds.” Zain laughs, like it’s an absurd thing to say. He’s right. It is absurd. But it makes so much sense to Harry. Liam and Zain, meeting in a McDonalds, completely unaware of their fate. Both moving on a parallel track, headed for the same place. There is so much that’s different here, and so much that’s the same.

“I’d done an awful job, the first day here. I was like _proper_ dejected. Nearly ready to catch the bus home and call it quits. Just bugger off before the second day of competition. I was halfway there, you know. Like I told myself I was just going to grab a burger, but I was halfway to the station. I got inside and ordered and went to pay, but I’d left my wallet back at the field, on the bus.”

He looks at Zain.

“I was behind him in line.”

“He paid for my food. It was like…the nicest thing.”

Zain looks embarrassed and wrinkles his nose.

“It’s just…what a person should do, you know?”

“It was really thoughtful, though. Anyway, we got to talking, remember? You told me that maybe going back and finishing out the meet seemed like the harder thing to do, but like…it wasn’t. Leaving would mean living with not knowing…how it would’ve turned out. And quitting’s as good as failing, so why not go for it and if you fail you fail. It seems simple now, I just. Dunno. It was like…exactly what I needed to hear right then.”

Niall is resting his chin on his hands, rapt.

“So did you go home? Or did you go back and run?”

Liam sits down on the couch and tosses his gloves onto the table.

“I went back and finished it out.”

“Did you win?”

He laughs.

“Ha. No. I was rubbish. But at least I tried, right? And I got better. Later. Just had to find my groove and whatnot. But at the end of the day, when the meet was done, I ended up missing the bus back like a proper idiot and had to get a ride with a friend of a friend.”

“Sounds like a great success, all in all,” Louis says.

Liam shrugs and smiles softly.

“Not all bad. Got a ride with Soph and we kind of like…hit it off. So…”

Niall throws his arms up and smiles.

“Qadar!”

Louis and Liam both look at him, dumbfounded, then Liam looks right at Harry.

“I don’t get it though. How do you all know each other? That’s like…what are the odds, right?”

Zain looks at Niall and Harry in turn.

“Have you not told him? What you told me?”

Harry shakes his head.

“No. No I told him.”

Liam looks at Zain.

“You’re not talking about the…band thing are you? He’s not got something to do with that?” He sounds disbelieving. Apprehensive. A little like he’s about to crack. He turns to Zain. “They told you and you believed it? I mean…no offense, Harry. Like…you seem like a great guy, and it’s really cool seeing you all but I just…It’s hard for me to just climb on board this thing. It doesn’t seem—“

Zain just nods slowly.

“Yeah. It was weird at first but…yeah. I believed it. I believe it.”

“Could I just interrupt here?”

They all shut up then and look at Louis. Harry bites his lip. Louis. Of course. Louis still thinks this is just a lad’s evening. A mini reunion. Just catching up.

“What the bloody hell are you all on about?”

Liam looks at Louis.

“Aha. So you they actually _haven’t_ told. That figures.”

“Haven’t told me what?”

Zain is still looking at Liam.

“They told me and I believed it because I felt it…like I _felt_ that it was true. Can you not feel it?”

“Feel what? Lads, this has all taken a very strange turn very suddenly. Can someone just tell me what’s—“

“We were never meant to leave the X-Factor.”

It’s Niall. Thank god for Niall.

“What does that even mean? Never meant to?”

“Something went wrong.” Zain walks to the bookshelf and pulls out his sketchbook. He opens it to a page near the back. A drawing of five figures, standing together. “We should’ve been put in a group and asked to compete as a band.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘should’ve’. Harry, what are they on about?”

Harry sets the guitar aside and leans forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs. He looks at Louis, searching his face for some hint of understanding.

“They’re on about…i don’t know. Fate. Destiny. Big weird lofty ideas like that, but mostly just…the fact that we’re meant to be together. The five of us. Like…it’s not meant to be me touring the world alone. It’s meant to be all of us.”

Louis looks absolutely blind-sided, but he doesn’t say anything more. Harry takes that as a positive sign. That he’s not called them all crazy and run out the door. That he’s still here.

“I think that you feel it. Something. I think we can all feel something. We just like…fit, right?”

Louis shakes his head slowly.

“I can’t…This is all very…”

Harry takes a deep breath, then speaks.

“There’s a world, or a universe, or a version of reality, I don’t know. There’s a place where we’re…a unit. Like…the four of you are my best friends. You’re like my brothers, or…more than that even. You’re like a part of me. _This_ place…this world doesn’t even makes sense. Like… _look_ at me.” He pushes up his sleeves and rubs at his arms. “Half these tattoos are meant for you lot. They’re stuff we went through _together_. Without you, the way things are now…like, I know logically why I got them, but that doesn’t mean they make sense. They don’t make any sense without you. Look…” He crosses his ankle over his thigh and pulls up the leg of his jeans, tugs his sock down. “Look at this rubbish on my ankle. There’s no possible reason for me to have this. Not here. It’s nonsense. This has got to be—“

Liam cuts him off suddenly.

“A joke. This has got to be a joke.”

“What?” He looks up, confused. Louis is staring at him, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Liam too, come to think of it. It dawns on Harry suddenly, what he must mean.

“Oh my god. Have you all still got it too?”

Niall is looking at each of them in turn, bewildered.

“Got what? A tattoo? I’ve not got any tattoos. What are you on about?”

Harry shakes his head.

“You never had one, Ni. You’re too chicken.”

Niall frowns, offended.

“Not scared, just never saw the point, really.”

“I know. But for whatever reason, you’ve never done it. It’s the rest of us.”

Louis is pulling up his pant leg and pulling off his sock. He shows Niall his ankle, inked with a tiny black plus sign.

“It was just…I don’t know. I did it myself. Was having a sort of rebellious week I guess. I can’t get any proper ink, with the acting, so…”

“I had Ant do mine.” Zain doesn’t even move to show them. He just sits down on the floor, his face set. They look at Liam then, and he’s shaking his head.

“No. Niall said that you…he said it was all in your head.”

Harry smiles regretfully.

“Sorry about that I just…I needed you to come. I needed all four of you. To make it right again. It’s always been that way. Without all five of us it’s…”

“Wrong,” Niall says.

“Yeah. It’s wrong.”

Louis is still staring at his own ankle, like he can’t believe it’s attached to him. Like he’s not sure it’s real.

“This is too weird.” Liam is looking over at Louis’s foot. “I don’t even know what it’s meant to be, it’s just…I just did it on a lark, you know?”

Harry shrugs.

“It’s a screw.”

“A screw?”

“Like the grooves in a screw, you know? Like it’s holding us together. The five of us.”

“Why’s Niall not got it then?”

“He’s not got any tattoos. Like I said, scared…or ‘doesn’t see the point’, whichever you please. And anyway, it’s always been him, right?”

“Always been him what?”

“That holds us together. Like…Niall _is_ the screw.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nobody runs off. No one cracks and admits this is all too strange to accept. Even Liam, whom Harry’d worried the most about. Who has a tendency to look into an abyss and firmly shake his head no. Even Louis, who’s forever pushing things away. They stay, and they talk, and slowly it becomes clear that this is the way it’s meant to be. The five of them together. It _does_ just feel right.

They grill Harry. They ask him questions about their other life, about the past four years. Zain looks a little dumbfounded when Harry tells him he’s got a fiancé and then accuses Harry of taking the piss when he lets on who she is. Louis mostly asks about the Rovers. About the charity work. What’s become of his sisters. He has money here, in this place. He’s got a reasonable amount of notoriety. But nothing like he has as a member of One Direction. Nothing even close. Harry doesn’t say anything about the other parts. The privacy stuff. The wedge that’d been driven between the two of them. It’s honestly not relevant here. Why open up a door that could stay happily shut indefinitely?

They drink as they talk, and they loosen up. The questions get sillier and their voices get louder and pretty soon Liam and Louis are on the floor wrestling and Zain is trying to pull Louis up and off of him, protesting. He manages to get Louis off, and Louis collapses on the floor cackling while Zain cradles Liam’s head.

“He’s soft, you shouldn’t be so rough with him!”

“Who are you, his bodyguard?”

They all start laughing, then, even Liam.

Niall insists on approximately 30 selfies. There’s some trial and error, with people falling out of the frame, and Harry can’t help but rib him a bit.

“God, how are you so rubbish at this?”

“Oy, shut it! I’m just trying to get it perfect!”

“The other Niall would get it in one shot, you know? Calls himself the selfie king.”

“That’s stupid. The other me is a twat.”

Harry just shrugs and laughs.

“You said it, not me.”

They drink more, and eat more, and Louis and Zain decide that Liam needs to learn how to skateboard, if he’s going to be one of the cool kids. Harry protest that Liam can’t really skateboard in any universe, but they’re determined. Liam stands on Zain’s board, awkward and giggling, his cheeks a little red. They try to show him how to push off, but he’s too nervous, so they mostly just shove him off themselves, passing him across the room to each other like a ferryboat.

Zain pulls a half-flattened pack of smokes out of his pocket and waves them around.

“I’m going to go look at the snow, lads.”

Niall jumps up and grabs his coat.

“I’m game.”

Harry thinks it sounds nice, getting some air. Being outside. Feeling the bigness of the world. It’s so familiar, being shut up in a space with these lads, it’s nearly like home. He needs to step outside. Feel this night in a bigger context. Rearrange his perspective in preparation for tomorrow morning. For the rest of this life…whatever this life will be.

Niall runs out ahead of them and disappears, leaving Zain and Harry to make their way outside together. As they move through the dim space of the shop, navigating their way to the door, Harry knocks a hip on the edge of a table like an idiot. It smarts, and he breathes in sharply as he recoils, then Zain is at his side, his hand pressing at Harry’s elbow.

“Sorry…it’s a mess.”

“Nah, it’s me. I’m a proper klutz.”

“We’ll get you there, ok?”

Harry nods and lets Zain guide him through the room, moving him around heaps of metal and benches full of power tools. When they get to the door, Zain slows and turns Harry to look at him. His expression is soft in the dim light. Soft and questioning and concerned. Harry knows that look.

“I’m ok.”

Zain shakes his head a little, like he’s been caught off guard, then he speaks.

“You are? It’s just…with everything happening so fast…I just wasn’t certain anyone had like… _asked_ you. How you’re coping with all of this, I mean.”

Harry reaches out and cups the back of Zain’s neck in his hand. He could kiss Zain right now, honestly. Because this is who he’s always been to Harry. Who Zayn has been and who he expects Zain could be and who any possible version of Zayn would have to amount to. It’s who he is, to the core. He’s the one who looks at Harry and sees right through him. Who sees that Harry needs to be cared for sometimes, too. 

He tugs Zain into him and they hold each other for a moment, and it feels safe and crucial and a bit like they’re puzzle pieces, nesting into one another. Zain must feel it too, because he laughs a little and says “so weird” into Harry’s shoulder.

They step outside and the snow is still coming down, blanketing the road in front of the building. Niall is whooping and spinning around in it, his arms wide and his head thrown back. He catches sight of them and grins, then promptly falls on his arse. Zain laughs and pops a cigarette in his mouth.

“Careful, mate. You’ll break something.”

“I’m good! Just like…wet.”

He presses himself up and runs around a bit more, catching snowflakes on his tongue. Harry and Zain stand in the doorway and watch him quietly.

“He’s like the best one of us, isn’t he?”

Harry smiles.

“Nah. We’re all great, you know? But he’s special. He’s Niall.”

“I’m what now?” He’s trotting carefully back to them, his hands shoved in his coat pockets.  “Oy, Zain, bum a smoke?”

Harry clarifies.

“You’re Niall, Niall.”

“I’m me!”

Zain nods and hands the pack over. Niall sets one in his mouth and leans in to let Zain light it for him. It’s not something he does often, the other Niall. Harry wonders if it’s a more regular thing here. How long he’s been at it. He inhales, and the tip of the cigarette glows red and makes a tiny crackling noise in the dark.

“Thanks, bro.”

Zain nods and shoves the pack back in his pocket. Just then, there’s a cacophony from inside. Close by, not back in the apartment—a loud metallic crash and Louis’s piercing laugh. Zain’s eyes go wide, and then he’s dropping his cigarette to the ground and grinding it under a heel.

“I’m just going to go do a murder. You lads stay put.”

Niall salutes solemnly and Harry struggles to keep a straight face as Zain turns and runs inside.

“That didn’t take long, then.”

“What, property damage? Destruction?”

“Louis corrupting Liam. They’re like…I dunno, Louis brings something out in him.”

“I can see that. I can see it in all of us, kind of. Like the stuff we bring out in each other.”

He takes a drag of his cigarette, then holds it in front of him, studying it.

“Do I do this? Over there?”

Harry watches the tip of the cigarette in the dark. A soft red glow.

“A little. Sometimes. Not a lot. You should quit.”

He takes another drag and nods.

“Yeah. I should quit here too. Just…on a night like this. Standing outside, fresh snow. Having you here. Feels like…electric, you know? Feels infinite. To just stand here and smoke and exist.”

Harry nods. And then he reaches out and pulls Niall into a hug. Because he wants Niall as close to him as possible. He doesn’t want to let him go, and he doesn’t have to. Maybe there’s not a universe where he has to let Niall go.

“What about me? Over there.” Niall’s voice is muffled a bit by Harry’s coat.

“What about?”

“I mean,” He pulls back and out of Harry’s arms. Takes another drag of his cigarette. “Zain’s got a fiancé…Liam’s got Sophia. Louis has someone, yeah?”

Harry nods.

“What about me? Have I got someone?”

Harry looks out at the snow, then back at Niall.

“Nah…I mean…our life is weird, you know? I guess you’ve not had a chance, really. To actually like…connect with someone.”

“What about you?”

Harry looks down at his shoes.

“No. Same I guess.”

“Ok.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “And we’re not…?”

Harry doesn’t look up. He’s not sure what to say, so he tells the truth.

“I…don’t know.”

When he looks up, Niall’s gaze is unreadable, but warm. He nods like Harry’s given him the answer he needs.

“Cool.”

Harry reaches up and taps him on the forehead, just above his eyebrow.

“Tell me about this.”

Niall raises his hand to his face and touches his scar, his fingers brushing Harry’s.

“Well…me mum and me dad were like…wizards, right? And there was this very bad ma—”

“Very funny. Really though.”

Niall shrugs dismissively.

“Was in a pub and someone was chatting shit.”

He doesn’t say more, so Harry waits.

“Like about you. Like saying you were an asshole or fake or something. I just got mad. Cracked him one in the jaw.”

“Jesus, Ni.”

Niall snorts, remembering.

“Got a table in the face for my trouble.”

Harry laughs a little, and feels a little like he might cry. He pulls Niall in for another hug and rests his chin on the top of Niall’s head. He breathes out slowly and watches the snow fall through the arc of the streetlight.

“You’re an idiot. I love you so much.”

He feels Niall’s arms tighten around him. Feels him breathing.

“I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing’s too terribly ruined when they get inside. No one’s died. Apparently Louis convinced Liam to climb up on one of the metal sculptures in the shop for a photo, convinced it would look like he was riding some kind of post-apocalyptic robot steed, and the whole thing had toppled over.

“It would’ve been very Mad Max, Liam. It would’ve been brilliant.”

Liam just nods earnestly and cradles a sore elbow. Zain is helping him up off the ground when Harry and Niall come in the door, shaking his head at Louis somberly.

“Aren’t you older than all of us? Seems like you should be the responsible one.”

Louis laughs as he rights a sawhorse and shakes his head.

“I’ve never been the responsible _anything_. Liam’s the one who’s all serious and whatnot. You should’ve seen him at boot camp. He was like everyone’s concerned mum.”

“I’m not a mum.” Liam sticks his bottom lip out. “I climbed up there, right? I’m fun!”

Niall jogs over to them and ruffles Liam’s hair affectionately.

“You’re fun, Liam. I remember. Anyway, we’ve established that it’s Harry who’s everyone’s mum. You’re dad if you’re anything.”

“That makes sense. He’s got the same haircut as my mum.”

Liam keeps his face neutral and it takes a moment for what he’s said to sink in. When it does, Harry frowns over at him, offended.

“Excuse me, Liam?”

“What? It’s true.”

Harry pats at his own head, trying not to laugh.

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

Liam raises his hands in surrender and allows Zain to steer him toward the door. 

“I didn’t mean it. You’ve not got my mum’s hair.”

“Thank you.”

“I took it too far and I’m sorry.”

Louis shakes his head.

“I never would’ve suspected you would be the _cruel_ one, Liam. Be more considerate next time.  Anyway, this all sounds very dysfunctional.” He falls into step next to Harry and throws an arm over his shoulders, walking him toward the door. “Already got a mum. Don’t need another. Harry, can you cook? Do the washing and such? You can be my husband or whatever. Something useful like that.”

Harry swallows thickly and laughs. It’s a joke. And it’s funny here. Actually genuinely funny.

“Yeah, I can cook. Better than Niall, even.”

“WHAT?!”

Louis waves a hand in the air dismissively.

“It’s fine, Niall. Fantastic. And I’ve got one too many dads already so Liam, you can be my business partner. You seem quite staunch and savvy.”

They file into the apartment and arrange themselves around the coffee table again. Louis is still talking, assigning hypothetical roles.

“Niall, you can be my little brother. Never had one of them.”

Niall smiles and pumps his fist in celebration as Zain drops onto the couch.

“What about me? Where do I fit in?”

Louis grabs the glass pipe off the bookshelf under the window and tosses it over to Zain, smiling wickedly.

“You can be my partner in crime.”

 

* * *

 

 

It gets late, and they all fall quiet, one by one, until it’s just Niall picking out quiet melodies on his guitar. No one wants to get up and leave. No one wants to say goodbye. Zain tucks his legs up under him on the couch and leans his head back, then lets it fall over onto Liam’s shoulder.

“Bed time for me.”

Louis grunts quietly in agreement, he’s been falling in and out of sleep for a while now on the other end of the couch. His voice is soft when he speaks, nearly a whisper.

“I’ll just…I’ll just drop off here lads. If that’s cool. Just get a little nap in before I’ve got to head back.”

Harry shakes his head. He gets up and pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and throws it over the three of them, tucking them in.

“No one’s going anywhere. Snowed in.”

Niall yawns loudly and tugs his shoes off.

“I’ll make eggs in the morning. Bright and early, yeah?”

Zain doesn’t open his eyes. He just presses his head into Liam’s shoulder and sighs.

“Eggs.”

Liam relaxes into Zain and smiles.

“Toast.”

“Yeah, toast too. G’night, boys.”

“Night, Niall.”

Harry gets his boots off and tosses his coat on the floor.

“We’re taking your bed, Zain.”

Zain mumbles something unintelligible. It sounds sort of like a yes, so Harry flashes a thumbs up that Zain can’t actually see, then follows Niall into the bedroom. There’s a huge Bob Marley poster on the wall, and the bed is covered in a very psychedelic tie-dye throw. Niall giggles a little at it, just before he collapses facedown on the bed. He speaks into the mattress, his voice muffled.

“We’ll talk to Zain tomorrow, right? About coming with. I’d like him to come with.”

Harry looks down at Niall, a thin solid shape in the dark. An actual person. One of his favorite people. And three of the others just on the other side of the wall. He thinks that maybe the four of them have never felt so real to him. So well-defined. He smiles down at Niall in the dark.

“Yeah. We’ll talk to him.”

“Wicked. Big spoon or little spoon?”

Harry sits down on the mattress, then lies back. He feels exhausted. And warm. And like everything is right. He’s about to fall asleep in a strange bed again, in a strange city, only there’s nothing strange about any of it.

“Little spoon.”

Niall rolls over onto his back and raises his arms in celebration.

“Cool. We fit.”

Harry arranges himself on his side and Niall wriggles up next to him, wrapping an arm around his chest and pulling him close.

“Yeah.” He presses his palm into the back of Niall’s hand, holding it in place, and closes his eyes. “We fit.”

 

* * *

 

 

His back hurts a little when he wakes up, the way it does when he hasn’t slept in a proper bed. He can’t feel Niall next to him, so he assumes he’s up already and working in the kitchen. There’s something tickling Harry’s nose and he bats it away, irritated. There’s soft giggling. Like someone’s stifling a laugh.

When Harry opens his eyes, there’s a sock dangling over his face. He wrinkles his nose and pushes blindly at the hand above him, protesting wordlessly. Whoever’s responsible for this is laughing loudly now, not worrying about waking him up, and it’s explosive and sharp and unquestionably Niall.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“WAKE UP. Breakfast!”

“Jesus, let me live!” He rolls over and half sits up and suddenly he’s on the floor. Like he’s rolled right off the bed and onto the carpet, which is very strange. The carpet itself is strange, too. It looks like the carpet on their bus. That’s…a very weird coincidence. He turns over and looks up at Niall, then stops short.

It’s Niall, standing over him. Like _Niall_ Niall. His eyes are a little puffy, like he’s not got the best night’s sleep, and his hair is a mess but most importantly, his hair is _blond_. Harry feels a shock of recognition, a surge of relief, then something else. Something like loss or regret, but that’s not the important thing right now. The important thing is that this— _all_ of this—is familiar.

He reaches up and grabs at Niall, who cries out in protest and tries to squirm away. But Harry tugs him down onto the floor and wraps his arms around Niall awkwardly, holding him still.

“Let me goooo!”

“No. Stop. Just…”

“LOUIS!!! Harry’s abusing me!”

“I’m not! I’m just—let me HUG you!”

Harry feels Niall relax a little. Feels his breath slow.

“Oh, we’re huggin? Ok. But you’ve still got to get up, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I just…I just love you, ok?”

“I love you too.” Niall squirms out of his grasp finally and kneels next to Harry on the carpet, looking down at him. “Did you have a bad dream or something?” He pokes Harry in the chest. “You shouldn’t sleep back here in the lounge. S’bad for your back.”

“I know.” Harry sits up. There’s something he’s remembering. Something important. Niall moves to leave, heading for the door. “Wait! Ni, wait a second. I’ve got to ask you something.”

Niall stops short of the door and turns.

“It’s Louis’s sock.”

“Nah…no not that. But also, gross. No. Listen. What does a house wear?”

“What?”

“What does a house wear?”

“I dunno, Harry, what does a house wear?” Niall is projecting his voice, and Harry knows he intends the other lads to hear. Harry smiles.

“A dress.”

Niall screws his face up for a moment, opens his mouth to say something, and then it clicks. He laughs, and it’s loud and booming and full and real, and Harry lies back on the rug, satisfied. He can hear a chorus of groans coming from the bunks, but it doesn’t matter, really. Niall laughed.

“I knew you would like it, Niall.” He rolls over and lies face down on the rug. He inhales, and it’s disgusting. Like it’s not something he would ever normally do, but he never though he would feel so relieved to see this floor, this bus, this whole world.

“I knew you would laugh. I can always count on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH to Jamie and Syar for slogging through all 30k of this with their editing caps on and giving me solid advice and corrections. YOU WERE AMAZING. You made this fic good. 
> 
> Also thank you to tardiscrashing for the amazing prompt, it was so much fun to write!
> 
> If you want to visit, my tumblr is [here](http://drownedindeniall.tumblr.com/). I love it when people barge into my inbox and yell at me about feelings and fic, so don't be shy.


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